


Lost Signal

by quartzguts



Series: bad things happen (mostly to noct) [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Animal Death, Assassination, Brotherhood: Final Fantasy XV, Established Relationship, Fake Kill Scare, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Noctis Lucis Caelum, M/M, Minor Character Death, Phoenix Downs (Final Fantasy), Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 02:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22003501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartzguts/pseuds/quartzguts
Summary: Noctis is kidnapped and assassinated on live TV. The whole of Insomnia mourns as his Crownsguard devote themselves to finding the culprits and bringing them down.Meanwhile, Noctis finds himself alone in hostile territory, and, with everyone he loves thinking he's dead, must find his way home on his own....well, maybe not entirely on his own.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Series: bad things happen (mostly to noct) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1550269
Comments: 14
Kudos: 254
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Lost Signal

**Author's Note:**

> this took me.... a month... to write...  
> anyway, this is for my bad things happen bingo card, for the prompt "fake kill scare." i saw this and KNEW i needed to write some pre-canon hurt!noct so... here it is.  
> as always, please heed the tags. warnings are for graphic depictions of violence, temporary character death, minor character death, animal death, (brief) suicidal thoughts, and a whole lotta hurt.

Noctis is gone.

Ignis has been in full panic mode since he'd entered Noctis’s apartment five days ago to cook dinner and found him gone. At first he’d called Prompto to ask if Noctis was at the arcade with him. When Prompto had answered in the negative, Ignis had called Gladio and asked if Noctis was training with him. That also garnered a no.

Realizing that no one knew where their friend and prince had gone off to, they'd alerted the Crownsguard, who'd tracked Noctis's phone to a ditch on the outskirts of Insomnia. It had been untouched and left in the dirt with a small note.

 _Wait_.

That's it. No ransom, no demands. Just. Wait.

Ignis is not in the mood for waiting.

He does what he can, donning a uniform and joining Gladio on official search parties. He keeps Prompto updated on the situation, sending him texts every hour. They're all the same, just cookie cutter messages saying that there's no new information. That they're still searching.

Prompto keeps texting back that he's sure Noctis is fine, that he'll be found soon. Ignis doesn't know if he wants to thank him for his forced positivity or scream at him to be realistic.

Truly, the situation is not necessarily cause for such intense panic. Noctis has been kidnapped before. He's been held hostage by those who would demand things from the king, and those who want money, and those who just want to rough up the prince. Regardless of the reasons, they've always gotten him back before. Sometimes with a few injuries, yes, but always in one piece. Most people are aware of how far King Regis would go to see his son safe and sound, and don't dare do more than lightly drag a knife over his skin and maybe break his nose if he gets bratty. Noctis knows what to do in these situations; he knows to go along with their demands, to not test his captors' patience or struggle, to wait until he is rescued. Yes, there have been times Noctis has fought. But those were the times he'd come back to the Citadel himself, with rope burns on his wrists and blood that wasn't his on his shirt.

Noctis has not come home on his own this time. No leads have appeared. They have nothing to go off of, nothing to point them in any direction, let alone the right one. That’s why Ignis has spent the past five days cutting crescents into his palms with how tightly his fists are clenched. That’s why his hair is unstyled and slightly greasy. Their only solace right now is that the note implied Noctis’s abductors were planning on doing something with him, so they probably haven't killed him yet.

Of course, _wait_ could mean _wait until we string his corpse up for all the world to see_ \- but no. Ignis can't think like that. Not now.

He holds onto hope as best as he can. But the reality is that Noctis has been missing for _five days_. Ignis is going stir-crazy over it. He's been awake for nearly twenty four hours now, helping with the search and investigation. Cor had taken one look at his dark circles and shaking hands and ordered him to take a break. Gladio was allowed to keep going, only because he'd taken a nap earlier that day. Ignis has no idea how he'd managed it. Sleep feels impossible right now. How can he rest easy when Noctis is in danger, gods know where in the company of any manner of nefarious villains? How can he sleep when Noctis could be enduring interrogation, torture, even? He can he?

He takes a shower and washes the oil off his body, then cooks and eats a small breakfast (and yes, it’s already evening, but he needs both coffee and food and besides that Ignis hadn't had breakfast that morning), while his thoughts keep racing. He sits in his apartment as his brain screams _Noctis Noctis Noctis_. He raises his fourth cup of coffee to his lips with trembling fingers.

A knock comes at his door. Ignis bolts to it, hoping it will be Gladio telling him that Noctis has been found alive and safe. That he can go see him immediately.

It is Gladio, but he looks tired. Grim. Ignis instantly knows there hasn't been any good news.

“The Marshall forced you off duty as well, then?” he asks, stepping aside to let him in.

"Sure did,” Gladio says. The words are wrapped around a yawn. Ignis frowns. Maybe Gladio’s nap had been longer ago than he’d thought. Time has been a blur since Noctis was taken.

"Why didn’t you go back to your family’s house?” he asks, slumping over once the door is closed. He doesn’t feel like keeping up appearances right now. Gladio will understand.

"Didn’t want to see Iris’s face when I tell her we hadn’t found him. Again." Gladio rubs his face with one hand. He uses the other to pat Ignis’s shoulder. "Let’s sit down. I'm dead on my feet."

Ignis nods. He's too exhausted to speak anymore.

They sit on the couch. Ignis keeps his head bowed, trying to hide the frustrated tears welling up in his eyes. Gladio’s hand drops from his shoulder to rest on the couch between them. Ignis sets his hand next to Gladio’s, feeling the dip in the leather where Gladio is digging into it. In an instant, Gladio flips his hand over and grabs Ignis's. They sit like that, Gladio clutching him desperately, like he's his anchor to the world.

Perhaps that's what he is, in this moment. An anchor. Another person whose life has stopped in Noctis's absence. Gladio and Ignis have both been with Noctis since he was a child. They’ve spent countless hours watching over him, caring for him, loving him. Especially that last part. Ignis loves Noctis above all things; Gladio must, too.

Of course, theirs are two different types of love, but the principle still stands.

"How goes the investigation?" Ignis asks.

“Weren’t you at the office a few hours ago?” Gladio replies.

“Yes, but I still hope there has been news since then, even if it isn’t good.”

Gladio sighs and places his head in his free hand. “I wish there was. We still don’t know anything. The bastards who took Noct left behind no evidence. We’re not even sure _where_ he was taken from. Damnit.”

His phone buzzes. Gladio sighs and pulls it out of his pocket. His face hardens at the caller ID, but before Ignis can ask who it is he rips his hand away and goes into the kitchen to take it.

Ignis leans against the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He feels so _useless_ . He wants to go back to the Crownsguard offices and demand Cor send him out on another search party, or let him help investigate, or _something_ , but he knows the Marshall was right. He’s horribly sleep-deprived. He needs rest. He tries to close his eyes and drift off while Gladio’s voice grumbles on in the background.

His momentary peace is shattered when Gladio storms back in the room and says “turn on the TV, channel 47, _now_ ,” with all the force of a man ready to go to war.

Ignis scrambles for the remote. Channel 47 is usually a twenty four hour news channel that covers stories from all over Lucis. It is well known for replaying the same bits over and over again on days when nothing interesting is happening. Today, it is different.

The spotlight is on Noctis, sitting in a metal chair with heavy ropes tied around his chest and stomach. The chair itself is likely nailed to the ground, Ignis thinks distantly, to keep him from knocking it over. Noctis’s arms are twisted and tied behind his back, there’s a gag in his mouth, and he’s glaring defiantly at something off-screen. Slowly, his eyes move to follow the woman who walks into view.

“ _People of Lucis_ ,” she says, and Ignis is already analyzing everything he can about her. Judging from her voice, she’s an adult anywhere between twenty and forty years of age. Medium athletic build. Around five foot six. A sabertusk mask covers her face. It features a long tongue that curls up to wrap around the snout - the signature look of the Leide Independence Movement, a terrorist group that targets crown citizens and royalists living in their region. Ignis faintly hears Gladio talking to Clarus and Cor through the phone, words about tracking the transmission and other very important things, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the TV.

“ _The people of Leide have suffered from royal tyranny for too long. King Regis and his ancestors have abandoned us to Niflheim. Our lands are barren, our people are suffering, and all the while the royal family sits in their precious city and ignores us. We will be ignored no longer. Take this as a message, Your Majesty. Today we make our stand._ ” She reaches her hand behind her back, and suddenly there’s a pistol being pointed at Noctis’s head. Noctis glares at her, challenging, and Ignis can see his gag move like he’s trying to speak. Then she presses the gun to his forehead and moves her finger against the trigger.

Ignis expects many things to happen in that moment. He expects Noctis to suddenly break free and warp away. He expects the Glaive to burst in and kill this woman before she can pull the trigger. He expects confetti to fall from the ceiling and the woman to hold up a sign saying “April Fools!” while Noctis spits out his gag and laughs.

None of those things happen.

Instead she pulls the trigger, the gunshot is louder than anything Ignis has ever heard, and he sees an explosion of red and white and pink splatter from Noct’s head as he reels back with the force of the shot. Then the TV goes black and the words LOST SIGNAL flash across the screen.

Ignis trembles. “That didn’t just happen. That did _not_ just happen.”

Gladio grabs his hand again. His grip quickly becomes tight enough to be painful. Ignis can hear his breaths grow short and choked, like he’s suffocating. Drowning. Then he stands up, dragging Ignis with him, and fixes his phone with a look that could only be at home on a battleground. His voice shakes.

“I’m going to fucking kill them. I’m going right now and I’m going to _fucking kill them_.”

When Gladio tears out of the room, he drags Ignis with him. Ignis hardly notices. All he can see is Noct being shot, over and over again. All he can see is Noct being hurt.

All he can see is Noct _dying_.

For the first time in ages, he can’t hold back the sobs that rip from his throat.

\---

Noct’s body explodes with flame.

It’s all he can feel for exactly three seconds; pure, unyielding pain, a fire that burns and burns even as he tries to roll and put it out. He moans, and the fire licks into his mouth, searing his gums and tongue. The worst of the flame is on his forehead, and he’s sure he’ll be scorched beyond recognition by the time it fizzles out.

_There's fire all around him. His nursemaid and guards scramble to throw themselves over him, to shield him. They're destroyed beautifully, eaten alive by the flames._

Just as quickly as it came, the fire dies down. Noct is left gasping and choking on the floor, his throat tightening up. He coughs and spits and claws at his throat until he feels he can breathe again. Only then does he open his eyes, blurry with tears, and try to look around him.

She’s there. As are the others, all dressed in black with ugly, monstrous masks covering their faces. Noct whimpers and tries to scramble away.

_His dad is there. He looks terrified and furious at the same time, and he's saying something, but Noct can't hear him. He can't focus. The world feels too far away, and his vision is growing black. Everything will be alright, though. His father is here. And he'd never let anything happen to Noct._

“Oh, no, you don’t,” someone says, and a boot slams hard into his hand. Noct screams before the sound gurgles and dies, his vocal chords too dry to sustain it. He can barely manage a cough as the boot keeps grinding into his bones.

“Get him off the floor. We gotta move,” another voice says. The boot retreats, but before Noct can move, there are hands on his shoulders. They haul him up into the air. He tries to get his legs under him, tries to summon a weapon or a spell or _something_ , but something hard and metal hits the back of his head and the world flashes white. It’s utter agony, and the throbbing is enough to make him fall limp and pliant, letting the hands on him maneuver him. They drag him out of a building of sorts before tossing him into the back seat of a van.

_He's nestled in the back of a car, several people holding him motionless against the back seat. They don't need to. He's tired, so tired, and he can barely stay awake, let alone move. He can't feel his legs, but that's okay. He just needs sleep. He'll wake up in the morning and everything will be alright._

He trembles as he’s pushed onto the floor, two people climbing in and sitting above him. Their feet and legs are too big to allow him enough space to comfortably lie down, and Noct whimpers as one of them places a boot into his calf and grinds down hard. The smell of old carpet and mud and smelly socks surrounds him. His face is sweaty, the hair on the back of his head is matted down with something, and he feels generally gross and horrible. All he wants to do is go home so he can climb into the bath and seduce Ignis into making him pastries for dinner.

Oh gods, _Ignis_. He wants Ignis right now, desperately. He wants home and warmth and safety. He wants Ignis, he wants his dad, he wants Gladio and Prompto and Iris and Cor and -

No sooner is the pained whine out of his throat that the boot closest to his face kicks him hard, and he can feel the bruise forming on his cheek as veins burst under the skin. “Hey, you, shut it. Just lay down and stay quiet ‘til we’re out of here, alright?”

“Did you give him the sedative?” a female voice asks. The question elicits a quiet curse, and then a hand is grabbing one Noct’s arms, pulling it up, and despite his best efforts to fight it a needle sinks into the soft flesh of his inner elbow.

“There ya go, Highness. Sleep tight. It’s a long way to Niflheim.”

Noct coughs weakly. Niflheim? Why would he be going to Niflheim? He can’t think straight. His head is growing fuzzier by the minute, and his eyes are getting bleary. Black spots blossom at the edges of his vision. Noct doesn’t fight it when sleep takes him. Maybe all he needs is a nap; he’ll wake up tomorrow morning in his bed, and Ignis will scold him for sleeping in, and everything will be fine.

The scream in his head tells him otherwise. He ignores it.

He’s not sure how long he sleeps. When he wakes up, it’s because his head is pounding. A groan escapes his mouth, entirely unbidden. Someone above him laughs, and he jerks his leg back as it's kicked. Noct whimpers and tries to bury his face in the carpet.

"I think our esteemed guest is waking up," a male voice jokes. There's another kick against his calf. Noct bites his tongue to keep himself from reacting. His head is groggy and he isn't sure what's happening, but he knows he doesn't want to give these bastards the satisfaction of hearing him in pain.

"Won't be long now, Highness," a woman says. There's a cruel sneer attached to his title. People have spit _highness_ at him before, at school and in public and sometimes even within the walls of the Citadel, but here it's different. More threatening. Here it makes his skin crawl.

It only takes him a few seconds to realize why.

He retches, coughing up bile and spit. The man laughs again. Noct tries to calm his breaths, fisting his fingers in the carpet to anchor himself to the world. He’s alive. He was dead, but he's alive now. He was dead -

Holy shit. He was _dead_.

Noct remembers a time when he was five years old. His dad had sat him down at the foot of his bed and showed him a beautiful feather. It was red and orange and yellow, and seemed to shimmer as his dad turned it in the light. _“This is a phoenix down,”_ Regis had said. _“It can be used to bring someone back from the dead.”_

He had then gone on to explain that sometimes bad people wanted to hurt royalty, and it may be the case that one day a Crownsguard medic would have to press one of those feathers into his hand and crush it. That it would likely hurt and leave him weak and disoriented for a time, but that Noct would live through it nonetheless.

Noct has had many health scares. There was the Marilith, the time he got really sick in middle school, the five assassination attempts when he was in the tenth grade and his dad passed a law a particular extremist group didn’t like. He's had his fair share of being hurt by bad people.

He has never been _phoenix downed_ before.

He retches again, but nothing comes out. His stomach is clear, it seems. That doesn't make sense, though. The last thing he remembers is getting street food from one of his favorite vendors in Insomnia. The last thing he remembers…

_He wakes up cold and delirious. Someone grabs his chin roughly and forces water down his throat. He coughs and chokes before he's able to swallow any of it. A needle pricks his arm, and he passes out again._

Shivering, he runs a hand over the soft flesh of his inner arm. There's little raised bumps there. Needle marks. He presses his fingers in, and his arm throbs. Recent, then.

Okay. So he's been abducted, drugged, murdered, and phoenix downed. Sure. He can deal with that later. Right now he needs to focus on getting out of this godsdamned car.

His captors already know he’s awake, so played dead isn’t going to work. He slumps back against the car floor, murmuring something intentionally incoherent and evening out his breathing. If they think he’s still sufficiently drugged, he might be able to sober up enough to fight back properly the next time they take a needle to his veins. Depending on how long he has, he might even be able to reach into the Armiger and summon a weapon. Or not. He’s still learning to control the Crystal’s magic, so his ability to access the Armiger is spotty at best. While he’s like this, drugged up and reeling from the phoenix’s fire, he doubts he’ll be able to do anything until he sobers up completely.

Still, it’s a nice thought to cling to. Noct flexes his fingers against the carpet and tries to subtly test the rest of his body for restraints. There aren’t any he can feel; his legs and arms are free, and there are no cuffs around his wrists or ankles. There’s no gag. No blindfold. These guys must be confident, either in themselves or whatever they drugged Noct with. Considering the drug’s been powerful enough to make him completely black out from the moment they took him to the moment they killed him, Noct suspects their confidence is earned.

He grabs at the carpet until his knuckles go white. How long _had_ he been out? He can’t remember. Long enough for his stomach to empty, at least.

He wills his pulse to stop coming so fast. He has to _think_. He won't be able to get out of this jam with brute force alone, and he can't risk playing along like a good hostage to buy time for the Crownsguard to find him. These people already killed him once. He vaguely remembers them saying something about taking him to Niflheim. They're certainly not dressed like Niffs, so they're probably turning him in for a reward. They only killed him because… because…

Noct's breath catches. They were recording when she'd shot him. They recorded his brains being blown out. Were they planning on sending that video to his dad? Or had they already broadcast it live? Posted it online?

What if everyone thinks he's dead?

 _Okay, Noct,_ he thinks to himself. _Calm down. If anything, that just makes it more important that you think of a way out of this. No one is coming to save you. You have to get out of this one on your own._

With his limbs heavy and his mouth like cotton, that seems unlikely. Still, he has to try.

His eyes dart around, checking for anything he can get to that might be useful. He has to distract them, maybe attack one of the men sitting above him and throw the door open in the chaos. Then he can roll out of the car and run off. He hopes they're still in Lucis, hopes they're somewhere he can hide easily. Better yet, he hopes they're in a town full of royalists who will come to his aid.

Noct’s eyes catch on a seatbelt buckle, hanging uselessly against the side of the seat. His captors aren’t buckled in, then. That could be a problem, since it means he can’t rely on their seatbelts to partially restrain them. He could use the buckle as a weapon of sorts, though. It’s metal, after all. It could cause a considerable amount of pain if he smashes it into someone’s head.

Alright, then. That’s his gamble. Noct closes his eyes and breathes out hard through his nose. A few more minutes to sober up, and he’ll make his move. Wherever they’re taking him, however long it’s been, he can’t let them take him any further from Insomnia.

He counts the seconds. After five minutes have passed his head is feeling a little less fuzzy, and it’s time to go for it. He braces one hand under him and lightly grabs the belt buckle with the other, ready to push up and strike on the count of three.

His first indication that something is wrong is the woman in the driver’s seat saying “hey, the hell is that?” before the car lurches. Noct yelps as the motion throws a boot into his already bruised cheek and another into his hip. He can’t let the pain stop him, though. In one swoop, he jumps up onto his heels and smashes the seatbelt buckle into the face of the man sitting above his head.

The man shouts as the belt buckle catches on his skin and cuts, blood splattering over Noct’s hand. Noct lunges for the door, scrambling to unlock it while he kicks out at the other man. The door unlocks easy, but then the car swerves hard, and everyone is screaming at once. Noct shoves back as someone grabs his leg, kicks and shouts, and before he knows it the door is flying open and he’s tumbling out.

He doesn’t have time to right himself. He hits the ground hard, his shoulder crunching against the road. His clothes and skin rip against the asphalt, and Noct keeps his jaw firmly shut to prevent himself from biting his tongue as he tumbles along.

Eventually the momentum slows. Noct winces at the bloody scrapes on his exposed arms and palms. He pushes to his feet, ignoring the angry bruises on his calves, hip, and shoulder, and bolts down the road, away from the car.

It’s late night, completely dark except for the light of the moon and stars. They’re on a bridge, because of fucking course they are. It’s massive, the kind with huge wires at its sides to keep it suspended. Noct can’t just dive off of it and hide, so he keeps running, knowing they’ll eventually catch up to him in the car.

They don’t.

Noct slows down enough to turn without making himself woozy. The car is still moving, but its speeding down the bridge in the opposite direction. Noct stares at it in confusion. The bridge is wide enough for two lanes of traffic, and its deserted. They have the room to turn around. He can’t understand why they aren’t driving him down.

Until the bridge shakes and groans and he sees the daemon perched on its wires.

“Holy shit!” Noct yells. At first, he thinks its an Arachne, until it dives down onto the road and its body is illuminated by the break lights of the car. It’s an Ariadne, bigger and meaner than its weaker cousins, and its sneering at the car of humans like they’re the most disgusting things its ever seen. Her babies swarm around her, climbing over the road and leaping in front of the car. Noct runs faster, his heart thudding in his chest, his head spinning at the sudden movement of the bridge under his feet. His stomach churns uncomfortably, acid splashing at its sides with no food or water to calm it. Noct yelps as the entire bridge shakes. He hears screams.

The Ariadne shrieks happily. Even from the distance he’s put between himself and the car, he can hear the crunching, the squelching of muscle and sinew ripping and tearing as the Ariadne eats her snacks. All Noct can think is _no, not me, please not me, have to run have to get away have to_ run.

The bridge surges again. Noct stumbles, nearly veering off the edge as it sways. He can hear the wires above him snapping, the bridge’s carefully constructed shape beginning to twist and fall, and its when the road beneath his feet drops enough he’s no longer touching it that he screams.

He tears through the daze and panic and rips a dagger out of the Armiger. Pain shoots through every inch of his body at forcing the magic when he definitely isn’t ready for it, but he can’t focus on anything else except throwing the dagger and praying to every god there is that his body will follow after it this time.

It does. His vision goes blue and he phases through the air, ending up far above the crashing bridge and next to some of its falling wires. Noct grabs one as it tumbles through the air and throws his dagger again.

He zips between the crumbling debris like that, not thinking about where he’s going, just desperately trying to get across the bridge before it completely collapses. The Ariadne cackles behind him, gleeful at the chaos it’s causing, and Noct barely escapes being bitten by one of its babies. He warps again, sweat pouring down his neck, stasis threatening to take him over as punishment for pushing the limits of his tenuous magic control, and realizes he’s close enough to solid ground to warp down to it.

He’s seen the Glaives do this many times before. They throw their daggers at the ground, following after them and landing solidly on the earth. Prompto thought it was the coolest thing ever the one time Noct had convinced Drautos to let him come watch the Glaives train. He’d said it was just like an anime character falling from an unbelievable height and landing right on their feet, except _cooler_ , because it was real.

Noct hits the ground. It isn’t cool. It’s _painful_.

Drautos had told him just last week he couldn’t try this particular type of warping yet, because the risk was too great. He could land wrong and break his ankle, his leg, or even his spine. That had gotten him to fall into line quickly. He’d already nearly lost the use of his legs once. He wasn’t keen on trying again.

Noct’s scream cuts into a sob of relief when he realizes the explosion of feeling when he hits the ground is entirely in his left ankle. He kicks out both legs, just so he can be sure. They move. He throws himself back on the ground and sobs.

Then nausea overtakes him and he rolls over to throw up. It’s only bile, but it tastes positively gross in his mouth. He coughs up the last of the acidic burn and forces himself to look back at the bridge.

It’s completely gone. Noct can hear it crashing against the cliffside and falling into the river that must be very, very far down. He drags himself to the edge, wincing as his quickly swelling ankle rubs against his boot, and peers out.

The river is surging up where the bridge hits it, all white suds and angry, dark water. The noise is deafening, even all the way up at the top of the canyon. Noct shivers as he thinks of his captors. Had they all been eaten, or had some of them survived, only to be killed by the water and metal as it battled around them?

He shakes his head. _No_ , he tells himself firmly. _No, don’t feel bad for them. You don’t have the time. Focus on yourself._

He blinks the tears (from pain, from panic, from nausea, from a whole lot of things) out of his eyes and looks over to the other side of the canyon. The Ariadne is sitting there, surrounded by her hundreds of babies, staring at him. Her eyes glitter in the darkness. Her body shakes like she’s laughing. Noct begins to tremble. She dips her head suddenly, curling down so her face is almost level with the ground.

There’s a person there with her. Noct can only see their silhouette, can’t make out anything useful at this distance, but he thinks he sees them bow. Then they walk away, continuing down the road, and the Ariadne and her babies follow them obediently. Noct watches as they ease into the darkness and disappear.

What the fuck. What the _fuck_.

Noct can’t stop shaking. He holds out a hand and hopes a potion will fall into them. Nothing.

Tears gather in his eyes. He can feel his Armiger there, but it’s entirely devoid of anything useful. There’s only the single dagger he uses for warping. A memory of Ignis’s voice comes to mind, saying, _“Noct, you should stock some potions and a first aid kit in your Armiger. You never know when you might need it.”_

Past him had replied, _“what, for when I stub my toe on my dresser at two in the morning?”_ and laughed.

As it turns out, past Noct is the _biggest fucking idiot in the universe_.

Present Noct must be pretty stupid, too, because he’s still sitting at the edge of a massive gorge instead of getting up and doing… something. Going somewhere. Noct wills himself to calm down. He has to keep moving. No one is coming to get him. He has to save himself this time. _Come on, get_ up.

He tries, but his broken ankle and the phantom gunshot wound in his head make him lurch, and he nearly goes over the edge of the cliff. Okay. That’s fine. Noct gulps and eases off the edge on his hands and knees, turning to he can crawl back down the side of the road. His ankle drags uselessly behind him, jolting and aching every time his foot catches on a rock or large twig. Noct whimpers. He has to keep moving. He can’t lie down here and hope someone will come rescue him. He has to _move_.

As he crawls, he takes stock of his surroundings. The road is poorly maintained, with potholes everywhere. The white and yellow paint is chipped and could use another coat. There are woods on either side of the road, with massive trees that rise high into the sky. Everything has fallen completely silent with the collapse of the bridge, and there aren’t even any crickets to keep him company.

Noct shivers. It’s cold, and without a jacket he can feel his teeth beginning to clatter. A pang of nervousness rises in the back of his head, and he reminds himself that Lucis can get pretty cold at night, too. He’s not necessarily in imperial territory already.

He keeps crawling down the side of the road, eyes fixed on the horizon in search of headlights. The road is obviously not well traveled, so the likelihood of anyone coming by is slim at best. Still, it’s always nice to hope.

The thought has him pausing. _Is_ it nice? Even if he _is_ still in Lucis, there are plenty of people outside the wall who hate the royal family. If he’s found by one of them, he could get killed again, and they likely won’t be oh-so-generous as to give him a phoenix down.

Slowly, he eases off the road. Anyone who comes by will have to turn back around when they realize the bridge is out. He can wait and take his chances as they come.

It’s harder crawling over the dirt. It’s uneven, and there are tree roots extending out over the ground. Noct’s mouth hangs open constantly as grunts and whimpers are torn from him. Now that his broken ankle is old news, he’s started to notice his other injuries: the scrapes, the bruises. _Gods_ , he wishes he had one of his dad’s potion, or even a bottle of water so he could try and make one for himself.

A steady hum drowns out his whimpers. He pauses, shuffling onto his knees to look up. He doesn’t understand what he’s seeing at first; it looks like the stars are going out one by one, being swallowed up by a blackness more intense than the night.

A spotlight clicks on, shining into the gorge, and Noct’s eyes widen. It’s an imperial airship.

He quickly ducks under the shrubs surrounding a large tree, covers his mouth, and waits. He presses further into the soil when the first MTs jump out onto the road. He’s alone in imperial territory with MTs nearby, and everyone he loves probably thinks he’s dead.

 _Maybe you are dead_ , a little voice whispers. _Maybe you died and this is your hell._

 _Maybe_ , Noct thinks. _But even if it is, I’m getting out of here. Watch me._

\---

Ignis feels like nothing is real.

It's been two hours since the broadcast ran. Gladio is currently _fuming_ from his place in Ignis's kitchen, marching back and forth with heavy footsteps and shaky hands. He's been like that since they saw - since they saw. At first he'd dragged Ignis down to the Crownsguard offices, where he'd made so much chaos Cor had banished them from the rooms. Then he’d gone to the training halls, where he'd absolutely destroyed every training dummy they had. After being banned from that, too, they'd gone back to Ignis's apartment.

Ignis is grateful he lives alone. He doesn't think he could stand sharing space with anyone right now, save for Noctis’s two remaining friends.

Prompto is sitting on the couch next to him, trembling. He hiccups every so often. It's the only sound in the apartment other than Gladio's furious breathing and booming steps. Ignis had near mechanically gone and picked up Prompto after Gladio had retreated to the training halls. He'd been hysterical, sobbing big wet tears and smearing Ignis's polo with snot as he barreled into him, begging "please say it's a lie, please say it didn't happen, it didn't happen, _please say it didn't happen_."

Ignis had taken him back to his apartment without a word. He's not really sure why. Maybe he just wanted him close.

So now, here they are. Noctis's closest friends, all together. Every once in a while, Ignis's mind floats too far away and he looks up, wondering where Noctis is. Then he remembers that Noctis is gone and never, ever coming back except in a body bag, and he hangs his head between his shoulders and shakes and wishes he could cry.

Prompto scrounges around his knee, trying to grab his hand. Ignis lets him, and they sit like that for a while. When Gladio finally snaps, screams " _damnit!_ " and punches the wall hard enough to break the plaster, Ignis calls him over.

Gladio comes, sits. He grabs Ignis's other hand. They stay like that, the three of them, an incomplete set. They’d just begun to grow closer the past few weeks, spending time together playing video games and watching movies in Noctis’s apartment, but right now it feels like they'll never be whole again, not with Noctis gone. Ignis isn't even sure they'll be able to stay like _this_. Maybe they'll drift away without their prince to ground them, aimlessly wandering through the rest of their lives without purpose, without meaning. It certainly feels that way.

Prompto breaks the silence first. His voice is wet, heavy, but oddly calm as he says, "Noct is really dead, isn't he? He's not coming back to us."

"Fuck, Prompto, shut up!" Gladio yells. Prompto flinches.

Ignis squeezes both of their hands. He can't let them fall apart, he decides. He’ll keep them together with his own strength for the rest of their lives, if necessary. “He is dead, yes.”

A sob fights its way out of Gladio's throat, and before long the steadfast Shield slumps over, his head in his free hand. Prompto scoots closer to Ignis and reaches out to press a comforting touch to Gladio's knee. They sit. Wait. Cry.

A phone buzzes. The noise makes Ignis flinch, makes him remember the last time Gladio's phone went off unexpectedly. This time, it's a text. Gladio whines helplessly. "It's Iris. She wants me to come home."

"You don't wanna go?" Prompto asks.

Gladio shakes his head desperately. "The Amicitia manor - it's for Shields. For people who've given life and limb for their kings. I've failed as a Shield, I don't _deserve_ to be there." He breaks off with a short, barky laugh. "Gods, listen to me. Noct is _dead_ and I'm here complaining about my feelings. What the hell is wrong with me?"

"I don't think there's anything wrong with you," Prompto says. As usual, his commoner upbringing, his distance from duty and discipline, provides clarity. "You're allowed to have feelings, Gladio. 'Specially about this."

That elicits a sob. Gladio's phone falls through his fingers and clatters onto the floor.

Ignis moves to pick it up as Prompto slips his hand away to rub Gladio's arm soothingly. "I'll ask her to get someone to bring her here. We could use the company, I think."

Iris arrives less than ten minutes later. Her eyes are red rimmed and brimming with more tears to come. She doesn’t say anything, just runs to Gladio and buries her head in her older brother’s shoulder. They end up moving to the floor so they can sprawl out over each other more easily, Prompto now practically sitting in Ignis’s lap and Ignis and Iris both leaning against Gladio, all of their hands intertwined somewhere in the middle. They instinctively leave a space open. For Noctis.

It’s a space that will never be filled again. A hole in all of their hearts that will never heal.

“What are we gonna do?” Iris eventually asks, her voice nasally from the snot clogging her nose. She shamelessly grabs a fistful of Gladio’s shirt and blows into it.

Gladio doesn’t even react to his sister’s grossness. “We find those bastards and bring them to justice.”

“I want to kill them myself,” Iris says firmly.

“We’ll do it together,” Gladio agrees. “For Noct.”

This time, the buzz that interrupts them is Ignis’s phone. He raises it to his ear and gives a short “yes?” when he answers it.

“ _Ignis,_ ” Cor says. His voice has its usual professional tone, but there's a heaviness to it that tells Ignis he’s been grieving, too. “ _We have a lead._ ”

Ignis jumps up. Prompto yelps as he tumbles over. Gladio and Iris are standing quickly, too, both of them with shoulders squared and faces painted with pure fury. “Tell us,” Ignis says, putting the phone on speaker.

“ _We’ve discovered where they made the broadcast from. We’re heading there now with a full contingent of Crownsguard and Glaives to back us up. If you and Gladio are rested enough, you’re welcome to join us._ ”

“Yes, sir,” Ignis says. “We’ll be there in a few minutes, sir.”

Iris snatches the phone away and snarls, “I’m coming, too.”

“ _There is a possibility that this is a trap. I don’t believe Clarus would appreciate me sending both of his children into the fire. Besides that, you are only thirteen years old._ ”

“Who gives a fuck what my dad wants or how old I am? Noctis is _dead,_ I want to _help_!” Iris snaps.

Cor sighs heavily. Ignis knows from personal experience he’s palming his face, trying to figure out how to say what he knows has to be said. “ _Iris. Clarus has already lost his nephew. I think he’d feel much better if you, at least, were here with him._ ”

Iris struggles, looking genuinely pained from being forced to choose between getting justice for Noctis and comforting her grieving father. To Ignis’s surprise, it’s Prompto, who’s only ever met Iris twice before, who pats her hair and smiles at her. “I think you should stay with your dad. He needs you, right? We’ll get them for you, don’t worry.”

Iris bites her lip. Finally, she slumps over, the fight drained out of her. “Okay. You’d better bring those - those _murderers_ back here alive, so I can kick the shit out of them.”

“Will do,” Ignis says.

They spend approximately two minutes cleaning the snot and tears off their faces before Ignis piles everyone into his car and speeds off to the Citadel. It looks like a war zone, with armed guards patrolling every inch of the grounds. Ignis has to show no less than three forms of identification to even get in. They finally park and practically run from the car, making their way to the Crownsguard offices. Every moment spent not searching for Noct's killers feels like a waste of time. Ignis is breathing hard by the time they burst into Cor's office.

The Marshall looks older than his forty-something years. Clarus stands beside him, his hands held firmly behind his back, standing at attention for no reason other than, Ignis suspects, he doesn't know what else to do. Iris breaks down at the sight of her father and practically tackles him into a hug. Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto report to Cor. The king is nowhere to be seen.

Cor regards Prompto wearily. “You’re His Highness’s friend, right?”

“His best friend,” Prompto says. “I’m coming, too.”

“We’ll keep an eye on him,” Gladio offers.

Cor nods. “Alright. You three are with me, then. We move out in five minutes.”

Ignis snuffles into the passenger seat of the Marshall's car. Distantly, he wonders if they'll find Noctis's corpse at the scene of the crime, blood soaked and open mouthed, already rigid and cold in death.

Maybe they'll bring Noct home after all.

\---

The MTs leave after they've finished surveying the bridge. Noct stays beneath the shrubs the entire time, a hand clasped over his mouth to muffle his breathing. Luckily, the MTs don't seem interested in exploring the area around the collapsed bridge. They simply pile back into their airship and fly away.

Noct can feel the wind of the airship's engines whipping against his face for a long time after it goes. His heart is beating a mile a minute in his chest. Slowly, careful not to upset his ankle and make the pain even worse, he crawls out of the darkness and continues to make his way down the side of the road.

He can't stay here. The airship might come back, this time with humans to investigate what felled the bridge, and he can't trust anyone he sees. No one will help him here. He has to get out of this on his own.

The going is slow. The road curves up, over a hill, and it's high enough that Noct can't see over it while lying down. He grits his teeth as his sore, scraped up body is dragged over uneven ground. Dirt gathers beneath his fingernails as he crawls, his fingers growing red from constantly digging into the soil. Gladio had teased him once about his _soft, royal_ hands. Despite his years working with a sword, his palms weren't nearly as calloused as Gladio's. Proof that he'd never worked a day in his life, according to his boss at his part time job, who'd taken one look at him and dismissed him as nothing but a spoiled brat.

Noct had proven him wrong. He'll prove everyone wrong. He has what it takes to get out of here.

He just needs to get over that hill.

It takes a while. As the slope grows steeper, Noct finds himself fighting to keep moving upwards. He's lucky the ground is dry. If it was wet, he'd be covered in mud _and_ have a harder time finding purchase in the crumbly soil. His breathing grows more labored, hitching each time his ankle drags against the ground in the wrong way. The wound is getting dangerous, Noct knows. He needs to make a potion for it soon. If he doesn't, the time for magical healing will have passed, and he'll be left unable to walk. He really doesn't want to crawl all the way home.

As he comes over the top of the hill, he spots something unexpected. Shiny, sleeted metal and something pale yellow resting beneath it. Noct grins when he pushes himself up to sit and sees the building.

It's relatively small, probably an outpost of sorts. It's dirty, and there are vines crawling up over the sides of the walls. There aren't any lights shining behind the window panes. Noct thinks it must be abandoned, but he still eases himself back behind the tree lines before he moves any closer. He has to make absolutely certain it's empty before he goes inside.

He crawls up to a wide based tree with winding prop roots and frowns, carefully maneuvering his ankle over the rough terrain. He's so focused on trying to keep his ankle from hitting anything that he's taken completely by surprise when he tries to brace himself against the ground behind him and ends up leaning on nothing but air.

He's able to curl himself around so he doesn't hit his neck as he fumbles down the steep slope, but his ankle isn't so lucky. It smacks against the ground with a loud _crack_ and Noct screams. It's an instinctive, guttural sound, the kind that Noct thinks he's only made a few times before in his entire life. He lies there, chest heaving, eyes blurring with tears as every inch of his foot and leg radiates pain. He really, really wants to get his boot off, to lessen the pressure on the swelling, but he can't seem to move.

He closes his eyes and remembers his training. Wait. Let the pain wash over you. When it dulls, _move_.

It takes a few minutes. Eventually, the pain fades to a low throb aching through his left leg. Noct whimpers as he drags his foot up. His ankle feels even worse. It's completely knocked out of place now, only kept in place by his heavy boot. Noct turns over and glares up at the tree. Now that he's on the other side, he can see the steep cut into the side of the hill, where the roots and plants give way to a firm grey wall of soil. Noct glares at it, hoping the earth can feel his displeasure.

He pushes himself back up to the side of the road. He's almost at the building, now. It looks more dilapidated up close, the paint flecked with dirt and the roof rusted on the edges of its sheets. No one has come out to investigate Noct's ear splitting scream, so he figures it's safe to assume that it's empty. There's a door on the side of the building facing the woods, and a small water fountain on the wall next to it.

Noct bites back a sob. He really, really hopes the plumbing still works.

He props himself against the wall and starts pushing up onto his right foot. When he's mostly stable, he pulls at the laces on his left boot and tugs it off, then his sock. He cringes at the sight of his ankle. It's bloated and reddish purple, hanging limply now that the boot is no longer there to hold it in place. Noct edges around the wall, letting it take most of his weight as he awkwardly hops forward. When he's next to the fountain, he presses his palm against the lever on the side.

Water streams out of the faucet, clear and sparkling in the moonlight. Noct leans for it eagerly. He drinks a little, curing the parchness in his throat, before scooting over to lean his body against the lever. He cups both hands under the spray, gathering a nice little puddle to work with.

"Okay, moment of truth," Noct murmurs. He focuses hard, pulling on the magic of the Crystal, drawing it out and lacing it through the water. Slowly his hands start glowing blue, and the luminescence transfers into the water until it's glittering, little bits of magic swirling through it like confetti. The glowing fades, and Noct is left with a minty green potion cupped in his hands.

"Yes!" he says. He raises his foot up and pours the potion over his skin.

The effect is immediate. The potion seeps in, correcting the position of his ankle and beginning to heal the cracked bone. Noct keeps at it, making little cups of potion and then dumping them over his foot, until the swelling goes down entirely and Noct can settle his weight on it with only a slight twinge of pain. He sighs in relief and makes one more potion, downing it and reveling in the feeling of his scrapes and bruises healing up.

Noct sways a little when he pushes off of the fountain to stand on his own feet, slipping his now healed foot back into his boot. That last potion was kind of pushing it. He stumbles over to the bathroom, creaking open the door to check for any stray daemons or beasts. The single stall is completely empty and covered with grime and mold. Noct grimaces at it and shuts the door.

He walks around the side of the building, searching for a front door. He finds one, and a brief test of the doorknob reveals that it's locked. Noct grumbles. He glances around quickly. The forest has begun to come back to life now, crickets chirping just out of sight, their little voices raising a cacophony of sound. It’s somehow loud and quiet at the same time; the sounds are positively tiny compared to the blaring night life of Insomnia, but they’re loud in their own way, echoing intensely against the backdrop of complete and utter silence. Distractedly, Noct looks up, and what he sees knocks the breath out of him.

There are stars. Hundreds, no, thousands of them, tiny little lights strung across the endless sky. The Milky Way is there, too, a great band of shimmering blue and purple spread over a black canvas. Noct’s mouth drops open, and he simply stares at it for a long while. He’s never seen so many stars; Insomnia is always so bright at night, the sky above it is completely black. He’s seen the stars a few times, during camping trips, but those were always close enough to the city that he’d never seen the Milky Way along with it.

Slowly, the magic fades, and Noct is left reeling. He’s suddenly aware of how tired he is; the drugs, phoenix down, car crash, warping, and potion-making are all coming together to weigh heavily on his eyelids. He stumbles back, draws up a last bit of his strength, and kicks the door, hard.

It swings open. The crickets quiet down, but their chorus returns after only a few minutes of silence. It seems Noct isn’t as disruptive to life here as a falling bridge and cackling daemon.

And that’s only right, isn’t it? Noct has never felt so tiny before. He stumbles into the building, turns, and closes the door quietly. As expected, there’s no one inside. The structure is only one room, with a rotting desk and dirt covered chair sitting in front of a window that’s so dirty Noct can’t see out of it. This must’ve been a check point of sorts, to inspect vehicles passing by. It’s obviously been out of use for a long time. Noct walks over to a dark corner of the room next to the door, leans against the wall, and slides to the ground.

He’s doing to get so dirty, he thinks absentmindedly, but stasis is tingling at the edge of his consciousness and his eyelids are beginning to droop. He knows sleeping here is a monumentally bad idea, as if (when, Noct thinks, because bridges don’t collapse for no reason and they’re going to want to find out what caused it) the imperials come back, they’ll probably check this building. Noct should leave. Still, he’s tired and in need of rest, and he knows he’s been very lucky to have only encountered the Ariadne and her babies tonight. Daemons won’t necessarily be warded off by what’s essentially a broken down shack, but at the least this place is shelter with four standing walls and a roof. Noct would rather stay here than go back out in the woods and try to climb a tree for safety. Staying is his best option.

He murmurs “hey, watch out,” and jerks his foot back as a rat, skinny unlike the fat things that live in the subways of Insomnia, scuttles over to investigate him. The tiny creature locks eyes with him for a bit, its nose twitching and its whiskers shivering. It’s actually small enough that it might be a baby. It regards him like its never seen a human before.

Noct would normally be disgusted by it, but hey, this is nature, and the rat actually lives here. Noct is just intruding on its home. He has no right to be mean to it.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says around a yawn. “Friends?”

The rat squeaks and scuttles away, crawling under the dilapidated desk. Noct sees several other pairs of tiny eyes flashing in the shadows.

“Those your brothers and sisters?” he asks, slumping down onto the floor. “Don’ worry. We’re good, long as you don’t crawl into my mouth while I’m sleeping and eat food off my teeth, ‘kay?”

The rat squeaks again. Noct drifts off into an exhausted sleep.

He wakes up screaming. The remnants of a nightmare flash at the edges of his vision, the gun’s barrel staring him down, the shot, ear-splitting in its intensity, the sudden eruption of violent, uncontrollable _pain_ that seized his whole existence in the second before everything went black and he ceased to be. The burning explosion of the phoenix down, carving flame into his body, burning away the bullet wound, _melting_ his brain and bone until it filled up the space left empty in his head, leaving a mix of blood and brain matter and bone fragments. He remembers the pain, the confusion, the inability to understand where and when he was, utterly convinced for a few moments that he was eight years old, lying in front of the Marilith as it raised its swords to deliver the final blow.

Noct whimpers. He’d heard the phoenix downs - that _dying_ , he was dead and that’s still a shock to think about - have a tendency to bring back traumatic memories. Noct guesses the Marilith is still the most traumatic thing he’s ever experienced, even if he’s been through plenty of scary things since.

He struggles to get his feet under him and pushes himself up. There's a squeak as a weight on his stomach moves, and the rat tumbles away from where it had been curled up on Noct's shirt.

"Cold, little guy?" Noct says weakly. He didn't get nearly enough sleep. He feels like he's about to fall over even as he stands.

The rat licks his hand before scurrying away. Noct sighs. Alone, again, it seems.

Noct rubs at his ears, trying to get the deafening sound of dream-noise out, only to realize the cacophony is coming from around him. There's rain falling outside. It's only a light shower, but the pitter-patter of raindrops against the metal roof sound as loud as Insomnia traffic during the morning rush. Noct edges towards the door, which is still hanging off its hinges, ready to push it open.

He pauses. There's a sound over the gentle splatter of rain; it's heavy, rhythmic. Like footsteps.

Noct utters a small curse and ducks down into the dark. He glances around the room. The desk won't provide much coverage, since it's nearly collapsed and has no wood hanging over the back to hide what's under it. There's something that might work, though; what looks like old plastic curtains, piled up in the far corner, ugly and smelling with the years left alone in the dark.

Noct dives for the pile and scurries under it. He feels like the rat, trying to make himself small to hide from bigger, more dangerous predators.

The footsteps continue around the sides of the building. He can hear them as clearly as his own heartbeat. Everything else falls away to the sound. A voice barks out an order; Noct can't make out the words, but he's never known MTs to speak. His visitor is human, then. He doesn't know if that's a good or a bad thing.

Suddenly, there's more footsteps. They round the building, coming to rest by the door. Noct curls up further, covering his mouth and his nose with a hand, muffling his breathing and keeping him from smelling the rot clinging to the curtains. Something shoves the door open. It creaks on its hinges as it swings in.

"I swear, this is the most disgusting - ugh! Are those _rats_?" a male voice says. Noct listens closely. He sounds young, maybe a few years older than Noct, and annoyed. That might be good. If he doesn't want to be here, he could rush the investigation and leave Noct be.

The footsteps continue inside. "This place reeks. I'm a general, I shouldn't have to - to bother with nonsense like this. A daemon running rampant and knocking over a bridge that's never even _used_ \- ! This is a waste of my time."

He keeps muttering as he kicks around the room. Noct lies completely still. He can’t risk getting into a fight - not now. He only has his small dagger in his Armiger, and that’s relatively dull, meant to be used only for warping. He’s still exhausted - his limbs are heavy and his eyes are burning - so hand to hand isn’t an option. From his place on the floor, covered by the curtains, he can’t even tell if there are MTs with his visitor. He thinks he can hear more footsteps outside, but with the rain increasing in intensity and the man’s continued angry muttering, it’s hard to tell.

Noct flinches when the rotting desk is suddenly kicked. He hears a series of fearful squeaks, before a boot stomps the floor and there’s a loud whine. A death wail. Noct presses his eyes shut and listens.

The footsteps continue around the room, pacing in a circle. The rain pounds against the roof. The door creaks on its hinges as someone opens it.

“General Tummelt?” a female voice says. “We’ve finished hauling up part of the collapsed bridge.”

“Yes? What happened to it?”

“It appears to have been weakened by an Arachne species daemon’s venom. There’s a single car among the rubble, along with a few corpses. All four of them show some level of daemonic feeding.”

Tummelt groans. A slap rings out through the room; at first, Noct thinks he’d hit the woman, but when his next words are muffled, he realizes he’s simply covered his own face. “Just my luck. Damned daemons…”

“Sir,” the woman says, a teasing lilt in her tone, “we both know there’s no one in here. Hiding in a broken down shed just because you don’t want your hair to get wet isn’t a good look, y’know?”

“Shut it, Serah,” Tummelt mumbles. “Fine. Let’s go take a look at the poor bastards.”

The footsteps begin to walk away. Noct almost relaxes, until Serah says, “sure someone isn’t hiding in that pile over there?”

It’s just a teasing jab, Noct can tell it is from the way she says it, but he still freezes. He lies perfectly still, trying to look as little like a living thing as possible, and hopes Tummelt won’t take the bait.

Three steps, thunderously loud even over the rain, march towards him. “Why don’t we check!” Tummelt says, full of sarcasm, and he kicks hard.

Noct feels the impact of his boot even through the curtain. He slides a little on the floor, along with the rest of the pile. Noct fights instinct to keep himself perfectly still, refusing to jolt or kick his legs in any way that would look like something living is hiding under the trash. He bites his tongue as his back aches, and gives thanks for the little things, like the fact that Tummelt had kicked him _above_ his scars, and not directly on them. His spine doesn’t seem to appreciate the difference.

“Just a pile of junk,” Tummelt says, and he and Serah march out of the building and into the rain, their boots squelching against the muddy ground as the door swings shut.

Noct stays completely motionless for a moment before sliding out. The quickly forming bruise on his back twinges, but he ignores it as he hauls himself into a crouch. He has to get out of here, now. Those people were imperial soldiers, no doubt about it; he can’t let them find him. He has to run while he has the chance.

He crawls along the floor quickly, moving towards the door. He takes one last look back. His heart falters. The little rat who’d slept on his chest mere minutes before lies twitching on the ground, its body a smear of ugly red against the grimy floor. The air around it shimmers with something indefinable.

Noct peeks out the door and, determining that there’s no one on this side of the building, steps out.

The rain immediately soaks him. It’s louder outside, the raindrops falling fast and hard enough to bruise. Noct creeps along the side of the building, heading for the tree line. He glances around the corner when he gets there. Tummelt and Serah are standing far off at the edge of the cliff with five MTs at their backs. They’re looking down at four bodies - or the remains of bodies - laid out on tarps on the ground.

 _Don’t feel bad for them_ , Noct reminds himself. _They tried to kill you. They_ did _kill you. Run._

Noct slides into the trees. Once he’s covered by shadows and underbrush, he stands and starts jogging. When he’s sure he’s far enough there’s no way they’ll hear him over the rain, he starts running.

His lungs burn already. His fingers tingle, a reminder that he’s still close to stasis and needs more rest to stave it off. His back aches, and the cold and rain is making his scars tighten, making his knees buckle.

He keeps running.

\---

The countryside passes in a blur. Usually Ignis would take time admiring the natural beauty of Lucis, something he so rarely gets to see, but today he’s completely focused on the destination. He can’t even appreciate the beauty of the stars. Every minute spent on the road feels like a waste. He wants to grab the wheel from Cor, slam his foot on the gas and make the car go _faster_ , make their drive _shorter_ , but he knows he can’t do that. Cor would have him handcuffed and sent back to Insomnia, and it wouldn’t make a difference either way.

Noctis is dead. It doesn’t matter how quickly they get to where he was killed; the result will be the same.

They’ve already determined the feed was a live broadcast, not a prerecorded video. The place they’re headed to, the remains of an abandoned city in the Duscae region, is where Noctis died. As they pull up to it, Ignis feels sick. It’s a desolate place, dusty and barren. Not even the beasts have taken residence here, as scars from daemons and magic stretch across the dirt, blackening and poisoning the land.

“Shit,” Gladio mutters as he presses a hand against the back seat window. “What a horrible place to die.”

Ignis agrees. He barely lets the car roll to a stop before he’s out the door and marching with the rest of the Crownsguard.

The signal had been tracked directly to an abandoned warehouse at the edge of the town. It’s the last building still standing, having been used as a resource center for refugees for a time after the village was destroyed. Guards and Glaives surround it now, guns pointed at the ground, waiting for Cor to give the signal to move in. Ignis and Gladio fall in behind him, standing stock still at attention. Ignis notices Prompto is slouched over at his side, trembling. He places a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

“Do you think we’ll -” Prompto says, then bites his lip, cutting himself off.

“It’s possible we’ll find his body,” Ignis says. “I pray that we do. We can collect more evidence that way, and - and give him a proper funeral.”

Prompto nods. “It’ll have to be pretty magnificent. To be worthy of Noct.”

 _No funeral could ever do Noct justice_ , Ignis thinks.

“Move in!” Cor says into his earpiece, and everyone surges forward.

The doors to the warehouse fly open with a bang. Guards move in silently, weapons raised, flashlights lighting up the inside of the dismal building. It tastes of dust bunnies and sand, the air stale enough to make Ignis cough into the back of his hand. Already, standing at the entrance, he can tell there’s nothing there. It’s just a vast, empty warehouse, completely void of anything.

Suddenly, there’s movement among the Crownsguard at the center of the room. Two men push the others back, creating an empty space around the floor. Light shines down on it as a dozen flashlights are pointed in the same direction. Ignis runs up, Gladio and Prompto hot on his heels, until he gets close enough to see.

There’s dried blood on the floor, among the dirt and dust. There are a few mushier bits, too, gray and pinkish, with flecks of white throughout. Ignis’s stomach lurches. He’s seen many injuries, even a few deaths, but this - this is worse than finding a body. So, so much worse.

“There’s scorch marks up here,” Cor says, kneeling by the gore. A guard helpfully shines a light on the area he’s pointing at - it’s blackened, covered in soot. Cor frowns. “Could be they tried to burn away distinguishing features.”

“If that’s the case, his body could be nearby,” Gladio says quickly.

Cor nods. He raises a hand to his earpiece. “There’s a possibility the prince’s body has been disposed of in the area. Squad A, search the town. Squad B, check the surrounding area for signs of digging. Squad C, check the river…”

The conversation fades away. Ignis stares at the scorch marks, his mind racing. All he can think about is that he's seen burn marks like that before, many years ago when he was a child. There had been an attack on the Citadel. A single guard had been killed before the rebels were apprehended. He hadn't seen the violence itself, but he had witnessed the aftermath as he'd been escorted to Noctis's rooms to comfort the young prince. They'd passed the place where the guard fell; the place where the phoenix down had been used.

Gladio and Promtpo have already gone to search for the body. Cor has gotten up to stand by Ignis as the forensic science team kneels by the gore, scraping up blood and brain matter to test the DNA, as if they don't already know who it belongs to.

"Marshall," Ignis asks softly. "Could it be possible that a phoenix down was used?"

Cor doesn't answer. He doesn't react at all, actually, which tells Ignis that he's already considered the possibility. "We don't know for sure."

"But it could have been."

"Ignis," Cor sighs heavily. He sets a hand firmly in Ignis's back. Ignis leans into it, feeling unbalanced. "I don't want to raise false hopes. There is no proof that Noctis was phoenix downed."

Ignis’s hands begins shaking. He doesn't realize there are tears rolling down his cheeks until his glasses begin fogging up. "If that is what happened, though, there will be evidence in the samples."

"Yes," Cor says, "there would be residual magic from the flame. We won't be able to test for it until we get back to Insomnia."

Ignis nods. His throat works, but no words come out. He feels like the world is tipping, fading in and out of existence, like he's teetering on the edge of a great abyss and if he falls in, he'll never come back out.

"Let's go back to the car," Cor says gently. Ignis lets him guide him out of the warehouse and through the dilapidated town. He tries to listen in to the reports he answers on his ear piece, but he can’t focus. The only thing that feels real is Cor’s hand on his back as he nudges him into the car.

“I thought I’d accepted it,” Ignis murmurs. Belatedly, he realizes the shaking has spread to his entire body. “Why is this - why is knowing he might still be alive so -”

“I’m sorry,” Cor says, but Ignis barely hears it. “I shouldn’t have allowed you to come on this mission. Stay here, I’ll call Gladio and Prompto over.”

“Don’t.” Ignis palms his face. He can feel the skin touching skin, but it’s disconnected, as if it’s someone else’s hand. Someone else’s face. “Gladio needs this. I know him. He needs to be doing something right now. If he isn’t, he - he’ll -”

“Alright,” Cor says. He slides his hand down to Ignis’s arm. When he speaks again, his face is turned away, and it takes Ignis a few seconds to realize he’s talking into his ear piece. “Monica, send Prompto over.”

Logically, Ignis knows it must take Prompto several minutes to get there, but it feels like he blinks and suddenly Prompto has replaced Cor. He pushes Ignis further down the seat and slides in next to him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Prompto says. He cups Ignis’s face in his hands. Maybe that should feel weird, because they’ve never been particularly close despite their respective relationships with Noctis, but at the moment it’s okay. It’s even nice, though it kind of reminds Ignis of the way Noctis used to cup his face like this, and suddenly he’s crying again, breaths stuttered and eyes burning, and Ignis is sure he hasn’t cried this much since the Marilith attack, when Noctis had returned home bloody and quiet, a far cry from the happy, bright boy he used to know. He crashes back into his own body and he’s terribly, destructively aware of how utterly broken he sounds and looks, sobs coming hard and fast as he gasps and shakes. Prompto seems to understand that his touch is helping, even without Ignis saying so, because he keeps one hand on his cheek and lets the other slide down his neck to rub his shoulder.

“Noctis - _Noctis_.” Ignis’s voice breaks. “I would die a thousand times over for him. I would barter my soul to the devil for him, just so - just so he could _live_ -”

“I know,” Prompto says. “I know, Iggy. We all would.”

“I can’t live without him, Prompto, I can’t, I _love_ him, I live _for_ him, he has to be alive, he has to be.” Ignis is seized with a violent grief so potent that it swallows up everything else in the world. Everything is so wrong without Noctis there, so bleak that Ignis can’t imagine ever being happy again.

“Ignis, Noct’s gone.” Prompto is crying, too, and Ignis grabs at his shirt and yanks him close. He needs him to understand; it’s selfish, but he can’t bear this soul-shattering hope alone.

“There were scorch marks by the - the remains.” Prompto’s face scrunches up in confusion. “Prompto. It could’ve been a phoenix down.”

“ _Oh_.” Prompto’s entire body droops, like all the energy has drained out of him at once. “That’s… fuck.”

Ignis couldn’t have put it better himself.

\---

Noct is barely conscious by the time he stops running. His feet are dragging against the ground, barely able to rise above tree roots and rocks that lie on the forest ground. His arms feel like lead at his sides. His lungs are burning hot, and his breaths are shallow and pained. The rain hasn’t stopped once, only varied in intensity. Noct is thoroughly soaked and _cold_ , the temperature dropping more and more as the water sinks in through his clothes and plasters his bangs against his face. He keeps having to smooth them out of his eyes, only to have them fall back down a few minutes later.

At the very least, he hasn’t seen or heard another Imperial airship since he started running. That probably means he hadn’t been seen, and that the Imperial army has no idea he’s even in their territory. If they did know, Noct has no doubt he’d have been captured ages ago and dragged back to Gralea kicking and screaming.

He stops to lean against a tree, back and knee aching from the cold and wet, and immediately knows he won’t be getting back up. There's no regaining his forward momentum. Noct slides down to sit on the ground, smearing mud over the seat of his pants, and lets his head thump back against the tree.

Godsdamnit, his back aches. He wishes he could’ve made just one more potion before leaving the building.

He sits like that for a while, chest heaving, drifting in and out of near-delirious sleep. The world sways around him. The rain lightens up until it's a light drizzle, pattering against the tree’s leaves and branches. Noct's back is throbbing, his scars aggravated by the bruise right above them, and his knee is trembling even without any weight placed on it.

"Fuck," Noct bites out. " _Shit_."

He lets his eyes fall shut and tries to get some rest. Slowly, stasis oozes out of his body, draining from his fingertips as the Crystal forgives him for overusing its magic. Noct flexes his fingers. Even with his back tempting him into it, he can't risk making another potion right now. He'll have to wait until he's completely out of the danger zone lest he risk crashing back into stasis, risking complete immobility and leaving himself totally vulnerable.

The crickets are quiet, now, having retreated into the trees and shrubs to hide from the rain. Noct's wishes they'd return, so he'd have something to listen to other than the never ending rain rolling down his skin and his own breathing.

He frowns, eyes still shut. There's a noise rising over the rain, slow and soothing, a gentle humming sound. It sounds like nothing living, and Noct can't place it. The humming grows, louder and louder, and soon Noct can hear heavy thumping with it, twigs breaking and mud squelching as it gets closer and closer. The humming is interrupted by beeping, fast and efficient, and while Noct recognizes the morse code he can’t put together what it’s saying.

His eyes snap open. MTs.

“Is a few hours sleep too much to ask?” he hisses, forcing himself back on his feet. His knee protests, threatening to give out and leave Noct scrambling to his feet again, but he manages to shift most of his weight onto his better leg and begin inching away from the noise. It’s to the left, in the direction he’d come from, and he realizes with a curse that they’re probably following the undoubtedly obvious trail he’d left when he’d crashed through the woods earlier. He isn’t being any more stealthy now; his footsteps are leaving obvious tracks in the muddy earth. The MTs are relentless and efficient. They’ll easily track him down.

Noct _does_ have a way to both cut off his tracks and lead the MTs in the wrong direction. Warping might force him into stasis, but if the MTs catch him, he’ll have much worse things to worry about. Noct bites his lip hard and forces himself a few feet to the right, leaving an obvious trail behind him. When he reaches a large tree, he slumps against it and draws out his dagger. The motion has the metaphysical strings attaching him to his Armiger singing with magic, but at least it doesn’t hurt. The humming grows, and Noct realizes it must be from the engines that power the MTs. The beeping turns into trills, rising up over the raindrops. Noct draws back his arm and throws his dagger as hard as he can through the trees, quickly warping left, far beyond where he was before.

He stumbles on his landing and slams onto the ground. He bites back a whimper and drags himself along the ground, struggling to find purchase in the mud, ripping up grass as he claws his way to a small dip in the land. By the time he gets there and tumbles over it, pressing back against the little hollow to hide himself from view, his entire front side is caked in mud. He suddenly wishes the rain was coming down harder so it could clean him off.

The whirring increases in intensity until he can hear their footsteps with worrying clarity. Noct presses a hand against his mouth and stills himself, trying to make as little noise as possible. An animal of sorts must hear the MTs coming, because there's a shifting in the grass as something darts past him.

The morse code continues, little beeps and buzzes that Noct desperately wishes he could understand. He _does_ know morse code, but he can't translate it quickly enough in his head to understand what the MTs are saying to each other. He listens closely over the rain, his shoulders sagging when the footsteps stomp off after the fake trail he left.

He glances around. It won't be long before they reach the end of the fake trail and spread out to look for him elsewhere. If they find the disturbed mud and ripped grass from his foray over the hillside, they'll find him easily. He isn't exactly well hidden.

His eyes land on a burrow a few yards away. It looks like a mound of earth at first glance, but he can clearly see a low opening rising out of the ground. Noct gulps. It's likely a daemon nest, the type Gladio had showed him the first time they went camping together. As he is now, stasis peering over his shoulder like a ghost, he can’t summon his dagger. Heading into a hungry daemon's nest is about the stupidest thing he could do.

He scurries over as quickly as he can manage it, taking care not to disturb any vegetation on the way.

By the time he reaches the mouth of the burrow, he's panting and wheezing. Every inch of his skin is tingling, and his eyelids are heavy with sleep. Noct pulls himself through the entrance and lets his body tumble down the gentle slope into the earth. The air is cool, and combined with the wetness of his clothes it makes him shiver. Water pools shallowly on the earth beneath him, and Noct manages to turn himself onto his back. His bruise aches with the position, but he doesn't want to pass out and have the rising water drown him when it's only a few inches deep.

He can hear a faint scraping sound further back in the burrow, alongside a few high pitched squeaks. They remind Noct of the rat, and he has to blink back tears as the memory of its bloody corpse comes to mind. What would happen to the other babies? Its mother? He’s heard rodents sometimes eat each other when they have no food - will they devour its body?

He whimpers as the tears gather in the corners of his eyes and slide down the sides of his head. At this point, he can’t tell if he’s genuinely sad about the rat, or if he’s simply so freaked out and panicked that anything and everything could make him cry right now. The scraping in the back of the burrow continues, and it echoes against the walls. Noct can still hear the MTs outside, but the footsteps and beeping are far away. The rain is quieter, too. It’s as if the world is melting, leaving only Noct, this burrow, and the thing that built it.

He feels his eyes drooping again. This is just about the worst place to fall asleep, but he can’t stop his consciousness from fading in and out, black spots dancing across his vision. He twitches his fingers at his sides, just to make sure he’s still in control of his heavy body. His very core aches, pain and exhaustion and dread from being caught alone and helpless like this making him want to curl up and fall asleep. He wants to pretend this isn’t happening, wants to block out the world for a little while longer.

The scraping moves closer. Noct’s mind drifts to Insomnia. He wonders how everyone is doing without him. Are they mourning? Have they figured out what really happened yet? Cor will find out, Noct is sure of it. The Crownsguard has solved every crime put to them under his leadership. He’ll know somehow. He has to.

Noct imagines what the Citadel must be like now. It’s probably on lock down, with his dad protected by guards from every angle. Oh, fuck, his _dad_. Noct knows how panicky his dad gets when he gets hurt. He knows it’s leftover fear from the Marilith, from the time Noct was almost taken from him. Those first few nights, when his dad thought he was sleeping, were the only times he’d ever heard Regis cry. He wonders if Regis is crying now. He wonders if Ignis is crying. If Gladio and Prompto are.

Or maybe no one is crying. Maybe they’re all happy he’s gone; the useless, bratty prince, finally out of everyone’s hair.

It’s an ugly thought, brought on by a brain so tired it can barely think, but it’s one that sticks.

“I’ll get back home,” Noct murmurs. Something nudges his arm as his vision blurs, the burrow ceiling swimming away. “I’ll make it back. I promise, Dad. I promise.”

He doesn’t know how long he sleeps. Eventually he wakes, consciousness floating back into his grasp as he groans. Now that tiredness is masking it less, the pain in his back and knee is flaring up. It feels like knives are shooting through every muscle, every vein. He screws his eyes shut, unable to open them through the pain. Slowly, he becomes aware of a warm, wet sensation on his arm. Every few seconds, his skin is pushed up by what feels like wet sandpaper. It’s always in one spot, and Noct squirms when he realizes the skin is becoming raw.

He snatches his arm away, but whatever it is moves with him, and a weight presses up against his side. Little hands grab his arm and pull it back, and the licking returns.

Noct forces his eyes open. The burrow is lit up, the low glint of a fire spreading warmth and light over the dirt. Noct glances to his side and freezes.

A tonberry looks up at him, its deadened eyes glistening in the light. The daemon stares as its tongue darts out of its mouth, licking him again.

“Hi,” Noct says weakly, mostly because he’s panicking and has no idea what to do. He’s been taught about daemons before - it’s part of his training curriculum - and tonberries are supposed to be _tough_. They meet any attack against them with fierce retribution, and their knives -

Shit. Where is its knife?

Noct struggles up on one elbow, letting the tonberry hold his arm and lick him for now. As long as it’s not doing anything more dangerous - like stabbing him - then it's fine. Noct will let it do whatever it wants. He doesn’t have the strength to fight it anyway.

He spots the knife a few feet away, dangerously sharp and polished. Noct gulps and turns back to the daemon. “Uh. How you doing, little guy?”

The tonberry licks him again.

“O-kay. You hungry, or…”

It slaps its hands against his arm and squeaks. Belatedly, Noct realizes it’s smaller than the pictures he’d seen of tonberries in the wild. “Are you a baby?”

He gets another squeak before the tonberry darts back into the recesses of its burrow. It snatches the knife off the floor and curls up next to its lantern, still watching him with those soulless eyes.

“Alright. Good talk.” Noct forces himself up, groaning at the bruising pulsing along his back. “I’m gonna go now. Have a nice night.”

The tonberry squeaks, watches as he flips over to crawl on his stomach, and rushes forward.

Noct barely has time to think before the daemon is on him. His eyes widen as he catches sight of the knife positioned above his back, and tries desperately to scramble out of the way before it hits its target.

The knife does reach him, but all the tonberry does with it is rip the back of his shirt open. Then it sets the lantern right on top of the bruise and claps its little hands together.

Warmth seeps into his skin, calming the pain immediately. It feels a little like the heat pads Noct sometimes uses at home, but there’s some sort of magic infused into the flames, draining into him and healing up the bruise blooming on his spine.

“Oh. Okay. That’s - thank you. I guess.” Noct watches as the tonberry sways, wiggling its lizard like body to an inaudible tune.

The tonberry’s mouth hangs open. “ _He wishes we protect you. We follow his wishes._ ”

Noct gasps as it lifts the lantern up and starts shuffling back into the burrow. “Wait, you can talk?”

“ _Not your time to die. Not yet. Soon the blood of the King will spill onto the ground, and millions of baby daemons will drink it and be nourished._ ”

“Sounds great!” Noct says. “Okay. Fun time we had here. I’m gonna go now, bye!” He scuffles around, clawing his way out of the burrow as quick as he can now than the pain is gone.

The lantern sways in the darkness, the flame reduced to a small pile of glittering ash. The tonberry’s knife shines. “ _Karma will find you one day._ ”

Noct clambers out of the burrow. “Sure, absolutely, see you hopefully never.”

His heart is pounding in his ears by the time he makes it out. The rain has stopped, but the ground is still muddy. Noct pauses for a moment, listening keenly. He doesn’t hear any MTs or voices. It's still nighttime, but the eastern sky looks like it’s lightening just a bit. He must have been out for hours.

Noct stumbles away from the burrow, eyeing it to make sure the tonberry isn’t following him. He doesn’t want to think about whatever the hell it was talking about. He didn’t even know daemons _could_ talk. For a moment, as he squints into the darkness, trying to catch sight of the lantern, he thinks he hears a deep laugh echoing in the trees around him.

He whirls around, checking every direction. There’s no one there. It’s just him and the woods.

Now, with the pain gone, the exhaustion somewhat drained away by sleep, and the fear fading away, he can think clearly. His dad must be heartbroken right now. Ignis, too, along with everyone else. All Noct wants is to go home and crawl into bed, maybe dragging Ignis down into the sheets with him. Or maybe he wants everyone over, so they can all play video games together and forget this ever happened. That’ll never be a reality if he doesn’t make it out of this forest, though, so he looks around carefully, trying to figure out where he is.

There’s nothing but woods on all sides of him. He thinks he’s sure of the direction he came from, and he knows his best bet is to head back that way. He has no idea how large this forest is; it could go on for miles in the other directions. At least he knows that way will eventually bring him to a road, which he can follow back to civilization. He just needs to be careful of any MTs he finds along the way. He’ll probably be safe from daemons, given that the sun is steadily rising.

He looks at the ground, ready to retrace his trail, and pauses. The tracks are gone - swept away like they were never there in the first place. He goes back up the bank he’d hidden next to earlier, and finds that his false trail is still there, embedded in the mud. So someone - or something - erased the admittedly badly hidden tracks that led to the burrow. Sure. That’s fine. He’ll take it.

Noct trudges on, taking care to listen and watch the forest closely. There’s no sound at all except for his soft footsteps treading on the wet grass beneath him. Having run through the forest earlier, walking back feels like it takes forever. He goes at an angle instead of heading straight back, hoping to end up far enough down the road that if the imperials are still around, they won’t notice him.

He doesn’t walk for long before the hair on the back of his neck rises and he turns around sharply, his skin burning with the feeling of being watched.

The little tonberry is following him. It squeaks and waves its lantern.

“Fuck,” Noct mutters. “Look, I guess you’re not that bad, since you healed me up, but please leave me alone, okay? I really can’t deal with you right now.”

The flame in the lantern grows ever so brighter. Noct flinches as he’s reminded of flames licking at his face, burning away the bullet wound.

He takes a step back, away from the daemon. “Just go back home, alright? Don’t make me fight you.”

The tonberry squeaks again. It runs, impossibly fast for its tiny legs and fat body, but instead of chasing him down it passes by him and then stops abruptly. It points its lantern into the forest, perpendicular to the direction Noct has been heading in. Noct squints at it, but all he sees is more trees and shrubs, stretching out far into the distance.

The tonberry rushes him. Noct shoots his leg out to kick it, but it flinches away from his foot and runs back to a safe distance.

“You’re familiar, somehow,” Noct says.

The tonberry’s mouth drops open. “ _Death awaits the King at the bridge. He must leave the trees and continue on the road, until he finds the chariot._ ”

“The fuck does that mean?” Noct practically whines. He knows he sounds like a little kid, but at this point he’s too tired of everything to care. “I mean, seriously, what the hell?”

" _Follow the light of the lantern, Your Majesty!_ " The tonberry races off into the woods.

"I mean, that would be about the dumbest thing I could do," Noct mutters as he stomps after the tonberry. He's not on the verge of stasis anymore, and his back has stopped hurting, but he still needs more sleep than he got and he's covered in dried mud, so he's willing to do just about anything to get home at this point, even follow a daemon through the woods. It hadn’t been aggressive yet, anyway, and he still feels like he knows it from somewhere. "I mean, why should I trust you? You're a daemon. One that wants to be _nourished_ by my _blood_ , apparently. This is stupid. Gladio is gonna kill me for this."

The tonberry’s lantern glints in the shadows. The sun has risen further in the past few minutes, now spilling the pinkish light of dawn out over the trees. Noct idly wonders if the tonberry will be alright in the daylight. He’d thought that sunlight hurt daemons.

He slaps his cheeks. _Bad Noct_ , he thinks to himself. _At least those bastards were human. You absolutely can’t start feeling bad for daemons._

Eventually, as the sun continues to rise and the morning mist makes the woods even less navigable than they’d been at night, the trees end. Noct startles at the sudden cut off of the forest, where brush and mud give way to firmer ground, and the sunlight shines down unimpeded. He grunts at the brightness, shielding his eyes with a hand as he peers around. There’s a road stretching out in front of him, two lanes, heading far into the distance in either direction. Slowly, he turns back to the woods. It takes him a minute, but he finally spots the tonberry, crouched in a shadow under a large tree.

“Uh. Thanks,” Noct says. “I don’t suppose you could tell me which direction leads back to Lucis?”

The tonberry squeaks. It wiggles, shivering in the slight darkness, and its body begins to - well, melt. It folds in on itself, lantern and knife disappearing in a spark as it gets smaller and smaller, slopping into the underbrush until it’s tiny and furry and darting away before Noct can get a good look at it.

Noct decides not to dwell on it and instead swings himself over the guard rail. At least now he’s got a shot at making it back to civilization, even if it’s a shoddy one at best. He edges out into the middle of the road, staring hard in both directions. To the left, far in the distance, he can make out Ravatogh. Noct practically chokes on his relief. He _is_ still in Lucis, then. Maybe at the edges of its borders, maybe still near an Imperial base, but Lucis nonetheless.

He starts running.

\---

They sit in the Citadel, twidling their thumbs, as they wait for the tests to come back. Prompto has bit through his lip twice now, blood dribbling down his chin to stain the collar of his shirt. Ignis absentmindedly cleans him up and gets him a glass of water. He knows he’s hovering, but he supposes with Noctis gone - if not dead then at least far from home and in danger - it’s all he can do to stop himself from shutting down completely. He needs to be doing something, and he’s always been good at taking care of people, so he figures he might as well baby Prompto in the way he wishes he could baby Noctis.

Gladio is pacing again, only pausing to glower and make everyone in the Crownsguard offices nervous. Ignis can guess that he wants to either go back out into the field or destroy the training halls again, but needs to be there when the forensics results are in. It’s been several hours, and the dawn is coming in full force - the sixth dawn Ignis has stayed up to see, the sixth dawn they’ve faced without Noctis. He keeps thinking absentmindedly that he has to go to the prince’s apartment and wake up soon, before the cold shock of reality reminds him that Noctis is dead, except he isn’t, because he has to have been phoenix downed because he can’t possibly be dead. If he is, Ignis’s life has no meaning. If Noctis is dead, Ignis will have to join him.

He’s holding Prompto’s hand, their fingers having laced together without either of them noticing as they sat and waited, when slight footsteps accompanied by the distinct sound of a cane walk up to them. Ignis rises and bows his head towards the King, and Prompto practically launches himself up to do the same before Regis motions for both of them to sit back down.

Gladio shies away, looking horrendously guilty. Ignis imagines he must be utterly ashamed at having failed his duty to protect Noct; he knows he is. He can’t bring himself to raise his eyes to meet Regis’s. Not when he knows how the man will look. After all, Ignis was there after the Mariltih; he was there for every assassination attempt, every failed kidnapping.

It’s just. No one has ever got this far before.

Regis slumps over on the bench next to Prompto. The poor kid immediately starts shaking, and Ignis kneels in front of him to pat his knee and hold his hand again. “Your Majesty,” he says, because even in these circumstances propriety must be upheld, and it would be untoward of him to not greet the King.

Noctis would laugh at him for thinking like that. Ignis’s heart twists.

“Ignis,” Regis says. He holds out a hand, and Ignis takes it quickly, wincing at the clammy texture of the King’s palm. “How goes the investigation?”

“There is nothing new to report as of this moment,” Ignis says with monotone softness. “Currently, the forensics lab is analyzing the evidence found at the scene.”

“I see,” Regis says. He turns his gaze to Prompto next. “You’re my son’s -” he chokes on the word, and has to take a moment to settle before continuing, “you’re his friend from school, yes?”

“Yeah, we - we’re best friends. Your Majesty.” Tears are gathering in Prompto’s eyes again. Ignis swipes his palm with his thumb.

“I’ve wanted to meet you for some time,” Regis says softly, eliciting a shocked look from Prompto. “Noctis was always very withdrawn as a child. I was worried he would go all throughout public schooling without making a single friend. I cannot communicate to you how grateful I am for your befriending him.”

“Noct is great,” Prompto says jerkily. “He’s - he’s the nicest, coolest, best guy I know. I love him.” His breath hitches and he breathes in sharply through his nose, no doubt inhaling snot. Ignis huffs and passes him a tissue. “I - What are we supposed to _do_?”

Regis chokes and grabs Prompto’s free hand. “I don’t know.”

They sit for a while. Everyone in the office goes about their business, politely ignoring the King as he breaks down in front of them. Just as Ignis is beginning to wonder where Clarus is, he comes in with Gladio and Iris in tow, and they sit down, too, Gladio leaning into his father in a way Ignis has never seen him do as Iris folds her hands in her lap and fidgets. The clock seems too loud, cutting through the room every second to remind them that time is still passing.

The moment of truth comes sooner than Ignis expects. Cor’s heavy footsteps overcome the ticking of the clock, and he doesn’t even bother bowing before he starts speaking. “We have confirmation. The DNA evidence found at the scene matches His Highness, as well as four suspects. The ash contains magical residue consistent with that produced by a phoenix down.”

Regis stands up faster than Ignis thought was possible with his bad leg. “Then Noctis is alive?”

“I don’t want to raise false hopes, Reggie, but it’s possible,” Cor says.

Gladio marches over to Ignis and Prompto and grabs both of them by the wrists. “We have to go now. He’s definitely in danger.”

“We already have teams tracking several vehicles that were spotted heading away from the crime scene last night and this morning,” Cor says. “Unfortunately, as of yet we have no significant leads. There is nothing you can do right now.”

“Yes there is!” Gladio snaps. “We need to be out there, now, looking for him! Do you have any idea how scared he must be? What if he’s hurt?”

“I do, and we’ve already established he is hurt,” Cor growls. “Get ahold of yourself. You clearly haven’t slept in days. You’re useless until you get some rest.”

“Cor is right, Gladiolus,” Clarus says. He takes his son by the arm and firmly pushes him back. “You are of no use to Noctis like this.”

Gladio looks even more pissed at that, but Prompto nudges his shoulder and says, “c’mon, big guy, you’re pretty out of it. Noct would never forgive you if you ran off like this and got yourself hurt, y’know?”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Gladio turns on Prompto with fury. “I’m not going to get myself fucking _hurt_. I need to be out there protecting Noct - !”

“Gladiolus,” Regis says, and everyone falls quiet. “Cor, Clarus, and Prompto are right. All of you need rest. We now know that Noctis is alive. You three were instrumental in discovering that fact.” They weren’t, and Noctis could have been killed again since the livestream, but Ignis shuts his mouth into a thin line as Regis continues. “For now, the best thing you can do for yourselves and for Noctis is to get some rest. You are welcome to stay in the Citadel for the time being, and I will see to it personally that you receive all pertinent information about the investigation.”

“...alright.” Gladio’s hands clench into fists at his sides before loosening up. “Forgive me for my outburst, Your Majesty.”

“It’s forgotten,” Regis says, and then he’s turning to Cor and they and Clarus are marching away before Ignis can process it, leaving him, Gladio, Prompto, and Iris to sway tiredly on their feet in the middle of the office.

Ignis clears his throat. “I believe my old rooms are vacant, if you all would like to stay over.”

“Sure,” Prompto says. “When Noct comes home, we can have a sleepover. We’ll order takeout, play video games, y’know. All that stuff.”

“That’s not what you do at sleepovers,” Iris mutters. “At sleepovers you play truth or dare and watch movies and paint each other’s nails.”

Gladio ruffles Iris’s hair and leads the slow march out of the Crownsguard offices and towards Ignis’s childhood rooms. “Maybe that’s what girls do at sleepovers. We’re men. We do manly things like eat shitty takeout and play video games.”

“The only video game I’ve ever seen you play is Animal Crossing, and that’s the opposite of manly,” Iris says. “Besides, I think Noct would look great in black nail polish.”

“I’ll see if I can’t have some delivered to the Citadel in time for his homecoming, then,” Ignis says, his heart beating a mile a minute, because Noctis is alive, he’s alive, he’s _alive_ , and maybe it’s the denial but he can’t let himself believe for a moment that he won’t be coming home soon.

They end up in the rooms, which have been since cleared out of any of Ignis’s personal belongings, but they’re clean and spacious and the four of them spread out in the living room and pick out what Chinese food they want from a nearby place’s website. Iris and Prompto end up falling asleep before Ignis can even get the restaurant on the phone, which is fine because ordering takeout to the Citadel always takes a million years anyway with all the security protocols the deliverymen have to go through before the food ends up at the door. Ignis makes himself a cup of tea and stares at it until it goes cold.

Gladio’s phone buzzes. He checks it and barks out a laugh. “It’s Cor. They got a lead. They’re heading out now.”

“I see,” Ignis says. “We should go, too.” He can’t get up. His legs feel like lead now that he’s sitting down, and the longer he listens to Iris and Prompto’s slow breathing, the drowsier he feels.

“He’s coming home. I know it,” Gladio says. “Damn brat. I’ll kill him for putting us through this.”

Ignis sets the cup down on the coffee table, breathes out a short “I’m right behind you,” and drifts off into dreamless sleep.

\---

Noct only walks down the road for a few minutes before he spots a car pulled over on the side of the road. It’s the ugliest thing he’s ever seen, cherry cola red with white racing stripes decorating the hood. He approaches it cautiously. The interior is equally goofy, dark red, and Noct huffs as he glances over it. There’s a key in the ignition, along with a paper placed innocently in the driver’s seat. After taking a quick look around to make sure no one is hiding in wait to catch him off guard, Noct picks it up to look at it.

It’s a handwritten note. Noct is very thankful Ignis taught him how to both read and write cursive years ago, because he needs those skills to get through the pretentiously written letter.

_It seems you’ve found yourself in a bit of a pinch, Your Highness. While I’m afraid I can’t risk helping you personally, I hope you can make use of my automobile to expedite your way back home._

_Do be careful with her. She’s a classic._

“Are you… fucking kidding me,” Noct mutters. This is so obviously a trap. There’s no way any of this happened; he probably died for real when those bastards had shot him, and this is just his annoyingly elaborate introduction to the afterlife. Or maybe he’s in a coma, lying in a cell in Niflheim somewhere. There’s no way he was just saved from MTs by a fucking tonberry, and is now being given a ride home free of charge by some anonymous hack with the worst taste in cars known to man. “I mean, really? Do they actually think I’m this stupid? No way am I going to just drive this thing. It’s probably rigged to explode or something the moment I turn it on.”

He jumps into the driver’s seat without bothering to open the door and twists the key. The car revs to life. “So, so stupid.”

Despite everything, the car does drive well. Noct is only casually acquainted with driving, having had Ignis to ferry him around everywhere since his retainer had turned sixteen, but he knows the basics and the road is long and straight, so he manages to get on without any major difficulty. The sun blossoms fully in the sky. Belatedly, Noct realizes he never said goodbye to that tonberry.

Fuck, was that even real? Daemons don’t help people. They eat humans, consume them, drag them into the darkness and rip them apart. They don’t heal them with magic and then deliver them to a car just waiting to be used for a classy escape.

Unless… Noct has heard reports about Niffs using daemons as attack pets. It’s possible whoever provided him with this car was controlling that tonberry. In fact, the little guy’s talk about _following his wishes_ kind of points to that being the case. With sudden unexpected clarity, Noct remembers the figure he’d seen next to the Ariadne. He’s forgotten about it, with all the running from MTs and fearing for his life, but that could’ve been the guy. In that case, it’s likely that Lucis has sympathizers in Niflheim.

That or his apparent rescuer has his own plans for Noct, which don’t involve him getting kidnapped, assassinated, and dragged off to Niflheim drugged up and helpless. Noct doesn’t know how to feel about that.

He stops at a fork in the road, and after rummaging through the glove compartment, comes up with a map. It takes a bit of time to get it oriented right, but it appears that he’s in Cleigne, which makes sense given the fact that Ravatogh has been growing closer and higher the further he’s driven. He needs go east to get back to Insomnia, but it’ll be a while of driving.

Checking the rest of the glove compartment and other nooks of the car reveals no cell phone. Would it seriously have killed the guy to include a shitty prepaid one, just so Noct could call for help?

But maybe he’s being too pissy. In fact, Noct knows he is, in part because finally being able to sit and relax has alerted him to how hungry and thirsty he is. His throat is scratchy and while all his physical wounds have healed, he’s still covered in mud that has quickly dried under the sun. He’s filthy and pissed and wants to go home, drag Ignis onto the couch, and kiss him silly for a few hours. Maybe a few days.

Noct also knows that, childish as it is, he’s a bit resentful. He’s spent most of his life frustrated over people doing things for him, and the first chance he really gets to prove he can take care of himself, some stranger jumps in and does the job for him.

But it’s stupid to feel that way. He should just be grateful he got out alive, and can go home. He is grateful, it’s just, well. Frustrating.

Another turn has him heading in the direction of Lestallum. He figures he can at least get help with a phone call in a city; even if someone just decides to lend him their cell phone, he’ll be able to call the Crownsguard offices to let them know he’s in danger and needs extraction.

The roads are mostly quiet. Occasionally he passes another car, but no one slows down to look at him too closely. The long drive becomes boring, though, and Noct ends up fiddling with the radio, trying to figure out how to turn it on.

It buzzes for a few moments before attaching itself to a local frequency. “ _\--it has been approximately eight hours since Prince Noctis was assassinated on live television. The Citadel has issued a new update to its investigation, stating that they have a lead and are confident that those responsible for this heinous act of terrorism are brought to justice. We all grieve with His Majesty King Regis, and will continue to update you on the situation as it unfolds._ ”

It feels like cold ice water is being poured down Noct’s back. His _dad_ \- crap, he’d almost forgotten. They all think he’s dead. His dad, Ignis, Gladio, Prompto - they all think he’s dead. How must they be feeling right now? It almost destroyed his dad and Ignis when the Marilith nearly took him. He knows Gladio well enough to guess how badly his Shield is taking this, and as far as he knows, Prompto doesn’t have any other friends or family in Insomnia.

His heart flips, both at the thought of how utterly devastated they all must be, and at how, up until now, he’d only briefly thought about how they must be hurting over this. He knows he didn’t really have a choice, since those few hours in the cave were the only time he’d gotten to actually think, but the thought lingers. He’s got to get to Lestallum as quickly as he can.

The longer he drives, the more he thinks, and the whiter his knuckles get as he grips the steering wheel. Iris must be grieving, too. He knows, as uncomfortable as it makes him, that she likes him, and he’s had a bit of experience with loosing someone you like. There had been a time he’d had feelings for Luna, after all, and for years after the attack on Tenebrae no one had been sure she was even alive. He knows Cor and Clarus see him as a nephew, too. And -

 _Ignis_ -

Gods, he needs to stop or he’ll end up panicking. He just needs to make it to Lestallum. That’s all that matters now.

_What if they’re glad you’re gone? What if they’re happy they never have to deal with you again?_

This time, when a beat up truck appears on the horizon, Noct swerves the car onto the side of the road and jumps out to flag the guy down.

The man who exits the truck is middle aged, brown haired, and tatted up on his arms. Noct only pays fleeting attention to the gun strapped to his hip before asking, “can I please use your phone?”

“Who you need to call, son?” the man asks, but he pulls a flip phone out of his pocket anyway. Then he squints at Noct hard, judging, and reels back. “Wait a minute - Your _Highness_?!”

“Yep, that’s me,” Noct says. “Please, I really need to contact the Crownsguard.”

“Holy shit. Thought you were dead. They phoenix down you or somethin’?” He hands over the phone. Noct punches in the number he knows by heart, the emergency line only he and his dad use, which he was forced to memorize at the age of five when he started attending public school. The guy pulls a walkie talkie to his face and starts talking into it, but Noct ignores him in favor of trying to calm himself before he hyperventilates.

The line rings only once before it’s answered. " _Y_ _our Highness? Is that you?_ "

“Yeah,” Noct says. “It’s me. Alpha-thirteen-dragon-versus. It’s me.” The identification code isn’t strictly necessary, but Noct figures if everyone thinks he’s dead, he might as well say it.

There’s the faint sound of another phone being dialed in the background as the woman on the line starts firing off questions. “ _Where are you? Are you injured? Are you alone?_ ”

“I’m in Cleigne.” Noct grabs the map, but for some reason he can’t find his position on it anymore and ends up tossing it back into the car. “I’m not hurt. They used a phoenix down on me.”

“ _We know,_ ” she answers, and Noct nearly collapses, because they know. That means his dad and Ignis and everyone must know that he’s still alive. That’s better than the alternative. “ _I can hear another voice on the line. Highness, who’s with you? Are you safe?_ ”

“Oh, this guy is -” Noct turns back to the man. “Uh, sorry, what’s your name?”

“Dave Auburnbrie, at your service, Highness,” he answers.

Noct thanks him and goes back to the call. “He says his name is Dave Auburnbrie.”

“ _Cleigne’s lead hunter. He’s associated with the Crown. You can trust him, Your Highness. I’ve tracked your call and sent your exact location to Cor, he’ll be there in one hour._ ”

Noct blinks. “An hour? Isn’t Cleigne, I don’t know, farther from Insomnia than that?”

“ _We received an anonymous tip that you were in Cleigne. Cor is already most of the way there._ ”

“Oh. Okay.” He scratches the back of his head and glances over at Dave, who is casually leaning against his truck with his hand resting on his gun. “Thanks for all your help.”

“ _It’s my pleasure, Your Highness. We’re just glad you’re safe._ ” There’s a pause, then - “ _would you like to talk to His Majesty?_ ”

“Yeah, absolutely, I…” Noct turns back to Dave, feeling inexplicably sheepish over hogging his phone. “Sorry, do you want your phone back?”

“Keep it, Highness. In the meantime, you wanna jump in the car? We can start heading back towards Insomnia. I’ve arranged for some o’ the other hunters to escort us.”

Noct doesn’t know what to say, so he hands the phone back to Dave with the woman still on the phone. Then he leans against the ugly car and picks at the skin surrounding his nails as Dave goes through some sort of process to confirm his identity.

Dave hands the phone back. “ _Alright, Highness, you can ride with him, but stay on the phone. Mr. Auburnbrie says you have a car with you?_ ”

“Yeah. Someone left it for me on purpose, key in the ignition and everything. There was a note and…” Noct hesitates. He’s not keen on telling anyone about the tonberry yet, for some reason. “I don’t want to drive anymore.”

“ _Of course, Highness. You get in the car with Dave and head for Lestallum. Cor will meet you there. In the meantime, we’ll send someone else to pick up that car, and I’ll get His Majesty on the phone._ ”

“I’d like that. Thank you,” Noct says as he climbs into the passenger seat of Dave’s truck.

The man lets him alone as he turns around and heads back in the direction he was coming from. Less than a minute later, Regis’s voice comes on the line. “ _Noctis?_ ”

"Dad," Noct chokes out. Dave continues to politely ignore him.

" _Noct,_ " Regis shudders. " _Are you alright?_ "

"Yeah, I'm - I'm fine. Everything's okay, Dad."

" _S_ _on, I know you. Please don't lie_." Noct jolts at the edge in his dad's voice. " _Are you hurt?_ "

"...I'm tired," Noct admits. "My head’s still fuzzy from the gunshot wound." Regis makes a strangled sound into the phone. Noct bites his lip as he continues. "And I think I’m still a little disoriented. But other than that, I'm okay. I got lucky."

“ _Cor is on his way right now to bring you home. You’re going to be just fine, son. I promise._ ”

Noct leans against the car window and closes his eyes. Faintly, he hears Dave speak into his walkie talkie, and two more trucks fall into line in front of and behind them, shepherding them to Lestallum. Noct can’t keep his eyes open anymore, so he asks his dad to keep talking. He wants to fall asleep feeling safe, the way he did when he was little and his dad would read him bedtime stories. It’s childish and stupid, but it’s what he wants, and he can tell it’s what his dad wants, too.

Just as he starts to doze off for real, he catches sight of something in the tree line whirring by outside the car window. A spark of fire, like the light of a lantern, and the glint of something sharp and pointed. Next to it, the silhouette of a man dips into a bow.

The lantern burns its way into Noct’s mind while a gentle voice whispers through the phone. “ _Sleep, dear Noct. And do try not to get yourself kidnapped again._ ”

The fact that the voice isn’t his dad's is alarming enough to shock him back into wakefulness, but then shadowy hands rise up in the corners of his vision and drag him under, kicking and screaming.

\---

Ignis doesn’t know how long he sleeps for. All he knows is that he wakes up to the smell of untouched chinese food on the counter and his phone buzzing in his pocket. When he raises it sleepily to answer, Cor is on the other line saying, “ _we’ve got him. His Highness is coming home safe._ ”

He doesn’t feel any level of guilt for shaking Prompto, Gladio, and Iris awake, and within minutes all of them are out of Ignis’s rooms and heading to the Crownsguard offices. They are once again refused any duties due to their obvious exhaustion, and settle in to wait for Noctis’s arrival.

According to Cor, Noctis had contacted the Citadel using a hunter’s borrowed phone in the Cleigne region. He has just met with Cor in Lestallum, and is being safely transported home. Noct is going to be fine. Ignis hasn’t lost him. He feels unexpectedly frazzled at the news; he’s unsure of what to do now that the ultimate danger and fear has passed. He settles for wringing his hands to the point of pain and pacing so fiercely in place that he’s sure he’s leaving skid marks on the tile floor.

Gladio places a firm hand on his shoulder, forcing him to stop moving. “Calm down, Iggy. He’s fine. It’s just a little while longer until we see him.”

“It’s going to be five hours at least,” Ignis says. “Even if they completely vacate the roads, Cleigne is a long way from Insomnia.”

“Yeah, but it’s only a matter of time now. Cor isn’t gonna lose him.” Gladio grabs his shoulders and steers him around to sit on the bench next to Prompto. “ _Relax_ , Iggy.”

“I don’t recall you being relaxed earlier, Gladio,” Ignis shoots back. He doesn’t feel sorry at all for the way Gladio sheepishly cups the back of his neck.

Prompto pats his knee. “Hey, we can’t do anything here, right? Why don’t we go to Noct’s apartment. It’s probably pretty dusty from being left alone for six days. We can clean it up for him.”

Ignis jumps at the opportunity to do something useful, even if he knows he’s falling right into Prompto’s ploy to distract him. “Yes, that sounds like a fantastic idea. Shall we?”

Gladio insists on driving them out of the Citadel. The roads have already been cleared in advance for Noct’s arrival, and it’s only by virtue of their Crownsguard issued license plate and IDs that they can get through the road blocks. Ignis bounces his knee in the passenger seat as Prompto and Iris idly chat in the back. Vaguely, he recognizes that they’re discussing the prices and quality of various brands of black nail polish, and the best romcoms to rent for sleepovers.

By the time they roll up to Noctis’s apartment, it’s only eleven in the morning. The entire building had been initially declared a crime scene and quartered off, but after it became clear that Noctis hadn’t returned home on the day he disappeared, the distinction was removed. Still, Ignis has not been back here since Noctis vanished. He had no reason to return to his boyfriend’s apartment when he’d known it would only make him sad, and his grief and worry would be detrimental to his usefulness in the investigation.

Now, returning to it after leaving it alone for days, he sees the few specks of dirt on the floor and the still dirty dishes in the sink and feels like he’s been neglecting Noctis somehow. It’s as if, in not taking care of this space, he’s let Noctis down. It’s a stupid thought, since Ignis knows that Noctis loves him and doesn’t mind at all when he doesn’t clean - that he actually dislikes it when Ignis comes over just to tidy up his apartment and do his laundry - but taking care of people is how Ignis expresses his love and he sorely needs to let Noctis know he loves him right now.

So, he swings into high gear and sets each of the others a task. Prompto dusts the baseboards while Iris wipes down the kitchen counters and Gladio vacuums the foyer. Ignis starts on cleaning Noctis’s bedroom and sets a timer to start dinner so it will be hot and ready for when Noctis arrives home. Logically, he knows Noctis will be swept away into the medical ward in the Citadel for evaluation, and will have to answer Cor’s questions for several hours, and he probably won’t even be permitted to return to the apartment until the threat assessment determines that he’s safe. Logic isn’t what’s driving his actions right now, though. All Ignis knows is that he wants the apartment to be spotless when Noctis arrives, and godsdamnit it all if he isn’t going to make it happen. If worst comes to worst, he can just pack Noctis up a portion and bring it to the Citadel later.

Prompto knocks quietly on the door, despite it being open, and Ignis turns away from the small pile of laundry he’s gathered from off of Noctis’s floor. “Is something the matter, Prompto?”

“Wow. I’ve been over here a bunch, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen Noct’s room before. Is he always this messy?” he asks, an affectionate snort in his voice.

Ignis smiles slightly. “Unfortunately, yes. I consider it to be part of his charm.”

Prompto laughs. "That's just like you, Iggy." He flops down onto Noct's bed, which Ignis has already stripped down to its mattress pad, and closes his eyes. "He's really coming home, right? I'm not just dreaming?"

Ignis rests a hand on his shoulder. "Yes. He's coming home."

"Okay. Thanks. I just… needed to hear it." Prompto jumps up. "C'mon, Iggy, take a rest. We can sit down, order more Chinese food..."

Ignis pinches the bridge of his nose as he remembers the boxes that are no doubt still sitting in the kitchen in his now empty childhood rooms. "What a waste of food…" he sighs. "Worry not about your stomach, Prompto. I'm planning on making a barramundi dish for lunch.”

To Ignis's surprise, Prompto's smile is a bit pained. "Iggy, I'm honestly kinda trying to get you to relax. You're really wound up."

"I cannot relax," Ignis says. "Not until Noct has returned to us."

"Okay, fair," Prompto says. He grabs Ignis's hand off of his shoulder and tugs on it. "I'll help you make lunch, then."

"That would be much appreciated," Ignis replies. "There's a grocery store at the end of the block that is likely open. Shall we?"

They end up in the kitchen thirty minutes later, and if they make it messier than before by throwing dashes of spices at each other and Gladio and Iris when they walk in unsuspecting, then Noctis will never know.

Ultimately, word comes in much later than expected. Whereas the sun had just risen when Ignis learned of Noctis's recovery, now the sun is setting, casting long shadows over the Citadel. Cor calls and informs them that the prince has entered the city limits, and is on his way to the Citadel for a full medical examination. Ignis throws on his jacket, suddenly self conscious of how disgusting he must smell and look, even though he bathed less than twenty four hours ago. He adjusts and readjusts his cuffs while they drive back to the Citadel, a tupperware container full of reheated fish and french fries in his bag. He'd have preferred to leave the potatoes in a more healthy form, but Noctis has always claimed to like his homemade fries, and as far as Ignis is concerned Noctis can eat whatever he likes for the next month. Or two. Maybe three.

The Citadel has exploded with activity. There are guards at every door and window, all armed and with their weapons obviously drawn. The Kingsglaive have been brought in as well to increase security, having staked out the tops of buildings during Noctis's route and then returned to the Citadel to guard the medical wing. A receptionist recognizes the prince's retainers and expedites the process of getting them past security, depositing them in the care of a nurse. She brings Ignis, Prompto, Gladio, and Iris to a private room and instructs them to wait outside while she checks to see if Noctis can receive any more visitors. Ignis can hear her say, "Your Majesty? His Highness’s friends are..." as the door shuts.

Iris bounces back on her heels. "I can still see him getting shot, in the back of my mind."

"I know," Gladio says, pulling her in for a half-hug.

Prompto bites his lip. "Wonder if there'll be a scar."

"Likely not. The phoenix down will have healed him in addition to reversing death." The word elicits a wince out of all of them, Ignis included. It's an uncomfortable reminder that they did almost lose him. That Noctis was very close to never coming home at all.

They stew for a few more minutes before the nurse opens the door and says, "you can see him."

Ignis barely gets out a “thank you” before he’s bursting in through the door, the others shortly behind him. Noctis is sitting up in a hospital bed with a blanket laid over his shoulders, holding a cup of water. He looks awful, with dark circles under his eyes and mud caking his hair and clothes. Someone has wiped it off of his face, but it only highlights how exhausted he is. The king is sitting in a chair at his bedside. He glances a greeting at them before turning his attention back to his son.

Noctis lights up when he sees them. “Iggy, you’re -”

Ignis doesn’t give him a chance to finish his sentence. Forgetting all sense of decorum, he throws his arms around Noctis and holds him as close as he dares, not knowing the extent of his injuries. He buries his face in the crook of Noctis’s neck as Prompto, Gladio, and Iris settle around them. They’re all saying various things about how happy they are to see him, but Ignis can scarcely hear it over the slow rhythm of Noctis’s pulse point.

Eventually, Noctis starts pushing at him, trying to get him to pull back. Ignis acquiesces reluctantly, but the emptiness of being separated from Noctis again brings him back in. This time, he plants his lips firmly on Noctis’s.

It’s a chaste kiss, nothing inappropriate, but Noctis still squeaks and pulls away. Ignis lets him, only to watch the way his cheeks explode in color as he throws side eyed glances towards his now laughing father.

“Ignis!” Noct whines. “Dad, stop laughing -”

“Oh, my dear boy,” Regis chuckles, clamping a hand down on Noctis’s knee. “My dear, sweet boy.”

Gladio nudges his shoulder. “Want us to give you two the room?”

“Yeah, looks like you got some catching up to do,” Prompto says, complete with exaggerated eyebrow waggles.

“ _No_ , everyone stop it!” Noctis turns to Iris for support. “C’mon, help me out here?”

Iris stifles a giggle, but Ignis can see the slight hurt in the way she’s hunched over into herself. He momentarily curses himself for hurting her feelings, before realizing that, as horrible as it sounds, he doesn’t really care. “Okay, everyone, Your Majesty, please stop embarrassing Noctis. I don’t think he can take much more of it.”

“If we must,” Regis says. Everyone quiets down in response to the king. “Now that we’re situated, Noctis, I believe Cor would like to ask you some questions about what happened.”

Noctis gives his father a funny smile. “Sure. That’s fine. Can I have something to eat, though? I’m starving.”

Ignis draws the tupperware container out of his bag and sets it in Noctis’s lap. “I made some dinner for you, earlier.” He tries to stem his pride when Noctis immediately buzzes with excitement and digs in with the fork Ignis had tucked away for him. “It’s great, Iggy. Thanks.”

“Anything for you,” Ignis says. He wonders if Noctis knows how much he means it.

They all sit and wait for Cor to arrive. The mood of the room is reversed from last night, when they’d gathered in the Crownsguard offices to wait for the test results to come back and tell them if their lives were over or not. Ignis relaxes the more he watches Noctis and sees that, for the most part, he seems perfectly okay. He’s not disoriented or confused, and there are no other signs that the phoenix down was issued late or incorrectly. There’s always a risk, with raising the dead. The down can be contaminated, or faulty, or just old, and while it always does its job it’s not guaranteed to do it properly. Noctis is fine, though. Whatever he went through, he’s okay now. While Ignis can’t deny still wanting to slaughter his attackers with his bare hands, he’s at least calmed by seeing his boyfriend safe and sound.

That is, until Cor comes in and starts asking questions. The first thing out of his mouth is, “we were unable to find the car you were driving when Mr. Auburnbrie found you, Highness. Could you give us a complete description of what it looked like?”

To which Noctis replies: “car? What car?”

\---

Noct doesn’t understand why everyone’s looking at him so strangely. He doesn’t think what he just said was particularly out of the ordinary, but suddenly his father, Ignis, Gladio, Prompto, and Iris are all looking at him sharply. Ignis grabs his head and begins poking around in his hair, and refuses to let go when Noct tries to knock him off.

“He doesn’t appear to have any head wounds,” Ignis says.

“Yes, the nurses already checked,” Regis replies. “It must be something else. Perhaps the bullet wound or phoenix down affected his short term memory.”

“He could also have been drugged,” Cor says. He kneels down in front of Noctis and fixes him with a patient stare. “Highness, I’m going to need a full statement from you. Start from the beginning, alright?”

Noct’s brows furrow. “O-kay. So, I woke up in that warehouse…”

He continues from there, occasionally stopping to answer Cor’s questions. He gets a few admissions of pride from Gladio and his dad when he talks about warping and making potions, some concerned looks when he talks about Tummelt and the MTs, and blatant alarm when he finishes up by describing how he walked out of the forest.

“Noctis,” Cor says carefully, “when Dave Auburnbrie passed you on the road, he stated that you were driving a classic red and white car. You mentioned this car to Monica as well.”

Noct frowns. “I did?”

“You also told Monica you found the car on the side of the road with the key in the ignition and a note advising you to use it. We believed it was from a Lucian sympathizer. Do you still have the note?”

Noct digs into his pockets and finds nothing. “Doesn’t seem like it. I don’t remember saying any of that. Or driving a car. Just leaving the woods and coming across Dave.”

Cor stands up to his full height, taking on a firm military stance and steeling his features into one of pleasant passiveness. “Why don’t we go down to my office, and we’ll take a more detailed report.”

“You think my memory isn’t right?” Noct tries to fight the panic he knows is coming. “I know those guys drugged me, but I thought it’d worn off pretty quickly after. I mean, if I was that out of it, I wouldn’t have been able to warp.”

“I agree. Calm down, son,” Regis says. “It’ll be alright. It’s likely the trauma just caused you to forget some things.”

Noct settles a bit. He remembers being eight, lying in a hospital bed, not understanding why he couldn’t move his legs or why his father looked so sad. It had taken him days to start to remember, and even then it was only bits and pieces. “Like the Marilith?”

“Perhaps,” is all Regis says.

Noct glances around at everyone. They all look exhausted, with barely dried tear stains on their cheeks and a red puff to the skin under their eyes. They deserve better than to be worried further just because Noct’s brain refuses to let him remember the important bits. He closes his eyes and struggles to think, if only so he has something to tell them. Something to make them relax again.

He remembers a glint of light in the darkness, a warmth on his back, and a deep, angry laugh.

_Not your time to die. Not yet._

His eyes snap open. “Okay. Let’s go, then. But I don’t think I’ll remember anything else.”

\---

After he spends several hours giving Cor a complete and detailed report of everything that happened (or at least, everything he remembers), Noct heads back to his childhood rooms. Clarus gives up on trying to drag Iris home, while Gladio sticks firmly to Noct’s side like a bur and Prompto almost explodes with gratitude when Regis issues him special permissions to stay in the Citadel.

As soon as he can justify leaving his best friend and Shield in the living room, he drags Ignis into the hallway and shoves him up against the wall. Ignis sighs into his mouth as they kiss slowly, gently, trying to communicate all their feelings from the past few days without words.

“I’m so sorry,” Noct breathes into Ignis’s lips.

“You’d better not be apologizing for being kidnapped and murdered, Highness, or I will be very upset,” Ignis says. He rubs up and down Noct’s arms, smoothing out the gooseflesh.

“I can’t imagine,” he continues, needing to say it, “how it must have felt. If it’d been you, I - I don’t know what I’d have done.”

“If it had been me, you would’ve been safe, here in the Citadel surrounded by people who would give their lives to protect you. I find that a much preferable situation.”

Noct knows his wince is visible. He hates that Ignis thinks that about himself, has always hated how his life is constantly touted as more important, more worth preservation than the lives of the people he loves. It kills him to know just how secondary Ignis sees himself, even if he knows there’s nothing he can realistically do about it. Ignis has been raised to be okay with giving his life for Noct’s, as has everyone else he’s ever known. It’s just the deal he gets, being the prince of Lucis.

Despite all that, he can’t let the statement stand unchallenged. “Fuck that. I’d rather die than see you hurt.”

“Noct -”

“I mean it, Ignis.” He kisses him again, hoping to distract him enough to allow him the last word. “I love you.”

Ignis laughs, petting down his still mud covered hair. “I love you, too. Now let’s get you a bath, and then I believe Iris and Prompto have plans for you this evening.”

"Should I be worried?" Noct asks as Ignis leads him down the hall.

"Depends. How do you feel about nail polish?"

**Author's Note:**

> and that's it! i wrote this concurrently with my (still unfinished) nanowrimo fic. i absolutely did not expect it to get this long.


End file.
